


Nothing and Everything

by kasey8473



Series: Friends Found [2]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 240,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasey8473/pseuds/kasey8473
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: While Dean & Jo struggle with being both parents and hunters, Sam must deal with his fear of losing the woman he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Nothing and Everything' is the second in a series, a continuation of the first story, jumping off only a short while from the end of it. The first is 'Lost and Found'. I highly recommend reading 'Lost and Found' before reading this piece to avoid confusion. This isn't a stand-alone story and is meant to be read after "Lost and Found".

The spray of water from the shower head was a soothing warmth against muscles that ached from the abuse Dean had given them the past couple days. He’d would be pleased if he wasn’t thrown against another wall within the next few months. He didn’t so much mind the flying through the air part, it was the sudden stop that he hated. He’d also be pleased if he didn’t have to dig up three graves in a row by himself any time soon. In hindsight, perhaps it had been a mistake to take two jobs back to back without any downtime in-between. Ohio was apparently a magnet for weird these days.

Still, he’d wanted to get a final few jobs in. 

Placing his palms against the shower wall, he bent, stretching those muscles and allowing the water to directly hit his lower back. He let loose a long groan. He was of the firm, unbending opinion that getting older sucked. Ten years ago, he would’ve been out right now celebrating a good hunt, having a few beers and shots, and chatting up the nearest willing pretty woman. Heck, even about five years back he’d been doing that. Now however, all he wanted to do was stand in a hot shower until his back stopped hurting, call Jo, watch some tv with Sam, and go to bed for a few hours before heading home.

Priorities change, he thought. Boy, did they ever.

There was only one month left until the baby was born and his life really did change forever. One month and he was going to be a father, with all of the things that went with that state. Jo’s pregnancy had been one thing, but this? This was a whole other level of reality to his reality. Diapers and midnight feedings and crying at all hours…. 

Dean was scared to death and what with the constant tasteless jokes that had been pouring from his lips the past month, he was surprised Sam hadn’t even called him out on it. He was just putting up with it, letting Dean keep talking even when he should be shutting up, and watching him with an understanding gaze. Sam knew how he was and he knew Sam knew.

He’d made jokes on the job and jokes back at base. He’d played with that breast pump Jo had bought on Ellen’s advice until Ellen, Sam, and Gwen had all snapped at him. He’d made puns about bits of research, composed a couple really horrible limericks about breast feeding, spent an entire afternoon with Jo seeing just how much liquid each age group of diaper could really hold before it burst, then fed the diapers into the diaper genie simply because it was a cool product.

He’d done all of that and more because…he was just that terrified. 

What if something went wrong for Jo and the baby during the birth? What if something went wrong when they got home? Those two questions swirled in his mind almost daily now and he’d quit reading the baby books. His imagination was active enough without those books telling him what could happen. He had more than enough ideas on his own and those were just the normal everyday questions. He had a ton of others too, such as what if an army of demons stormed the hospital while he and Jo were in the delivery room? Or an army of other creatures? How could he fight them off and make sure Jo and the baby were safe?

Dean stood up straight again and twisted a little.

With these jobs done, he could concentrate on preparing for the birth. First on his list was the crib, then double check that they had everything they’d need, from bottles to diapers. It had been a strange experience scanning items into a gift registry for the baby shower, but Ellen had insisted. The number of items she claimed they needed was daunting. Ellen had had a list of her own, going down it and herding Dean and Jo from rack to rack, insisting they pick out a theme. Themes? Did it really matter if they had Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, the train one or some of the other ones? He’d be fine with solid colors. Well, anything except the funny greens and yellows that were considered gender neutral. A couple times he’d almost been tempted to just tell them he knew they were having a boy, but since Jo seemed pleased she was managing to keep it a secret like he’d wanted, he didn’t tell them. Let Jo think everyone had managed to keep their lips zipped.

Technically, no one had actually told him, but what else was he to think when Jo brought home little garments that had trains and tools on them? Or when he saw the bibs at Ellen’s house that said ‘Mommy’s boy’? Not to mention the book Jo kept trying to hide from him on caring for a baby boy. He hadn’t realized there were books specifically for that. Then, there’d been the casual question from Dr. Ames about circumcision.

He could put two and two together to come up with four.

The circumcision question had brought even more fears to the surface. What if the doctor’s hand slipped while doing the procedure? His son would be maimed.

Several loud knocks sounded, followed by Sam’s voice. “Hey Dean, Mick and I are gonna go grab some beers. Want us to wait for you?”

Mick Richardson was a contact of Jo and Gwen’s. Since Sophie his hunting partner, and another contact of Jo and Gwen’s, was in Sioux Falls for Jo’s baby shower, Mick had invited Sam and Dean to help him clean out a particularly nasty vampire nest. Sam and Mick had hit it off within minutes of meeting and while Dean did like Mick, he wasn’t sure he was up for socializing. It had been a tough week. 

Then again, maybe it’d be good for him.

He closed his eyes, thinking about it. Have some beers with them or call Jo? He’d done the social thing the other night before Sophie left, assessing both Mick and Sophie and deciding whether or not he’d wanted to take the job. Mick reminded him a little of himself and Sophie had that firecracker vibe about her. He’d almost been able to hear Ellen’s voice saying ‘that girl’s a pistol’. Dean rolled his head on his neck, opening his eyes. “Nope. Go on without me.”

“You sure? We don’t mind waiting.”

Dean laughed a little to himself. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Not long ago, he’d been the one trying to cajole Sam into going out to celebrate and now the roles were reversed.

“Okay. Back in a few hours. We’ll be at Beck’s down the street if you change your mind.”

“Take your time.”

He stood in the shower awhile longer, then got out, drying off and pulling on sweats and a t-shirt. Lying on the bed, he called Jo. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” she told him. “How’d it go?”

“Another job well done. Nest is cleared and Sam and Mick are out celebrating.”

“Where are you?” In the background, he heard feminine voices laughing.

“In the room. Were are you?”

“We’re having a late dinner of Mexican food, or rather I’m eating and everyone else is having margaritas. Gwen and Sophie are sloshed and mom is egging them on. I’ll be surprised if none of them have hangovers tomorrow.”

“I won’t keep you then.”

“Hey, why aren’t you out with Mick and Sam?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Wanted to call you and watch some tv.” He eyed the remote, but didn’t reach for it.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Get your hiney out there and have some guy time. Unwind. Drink a few beers. Exchange wild stories with Mick. Believe me, he has several that are too wild to not be true. Ask him about the zombie and the chocolate store.”

“The…. You know that sounds like the beginning of a really bad joke?”

She laughed. “Sure does. Dean, I gotta go. Sophie just climbed up on the table.”

“Party animals. Love you, Jo.” 

“Love you, too. Sophie!” The call cut off and he wondered for a moment just what sort of trouble the they could think of to get into when Jo was both pregnant and not drinking. Somehow, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

With a sigh, he exchanged his sweats for jeans and finished getting dressed. Maybe he’d have a couple beers after all. Could be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Jo’s due date drew near, Sam watched Dean become anxious and saw the worry growing inside him. The speed at which his smart mouth began to run was a good indication of how scared Dean really was. His jokes got more and more tasteless and sophomoric and he’d moved on to antics as well. Sam didn’t think he’d forget any of those in the near future. The breast pump ones had been particularly…stupid and annoying. He’d been surprised at first that Jo hadn’t snapped at Dean like the rest of them, but then he’d seen her expression clearly. She was barely holding it together, too, doing as many stupid antics as Dean, though hers were quieter and not quite as public. 

He did what he could to alleviate those fears, but there really wasn’t much to do. They could only be negated by experience.

Dean knew how to take care of a baby. He did. Sam had every confidence that within a couple days all of Dean’s memories of taking care of Sam when he’d been a baby would rush forward. He’d remember what to do and how to do it. Until then, Dean was going to be tied in knots.

As for Jo…. She’d spent more time reading the baby books and going online to the parenting sites than she had working on the cursed object file, which was normal and natural in his opinion. She’d mentioned several times that she’d never been one for babysitting or anything like it. He’d seen the curl of a worried frown and noticed how she’d stand in the doorway of the baby’s room and just stare into the room. 

He knew she’d talked to Gwen and Ellen both about her fears. Gwen had told him everything as they’d lain in bed together. How Jo was scared she couldn’t handle the pressure, that she was afraid she’d drop the baby or hurt it somehow, and how she thought she was going to be a bad mom. He and Gwen had thoroughly discussed the topic to death. 

Sam had been there at Bobby’s to hear Ellen tell Jo that every parent was scared the first time and Ellen herself had been just as terrified as Jo was. Ellen had related a few funny stories then, attempting to ease the tension in Jo. 

She’d talked about waking up, hearing Jo cry and trying to get to her, crying herself when she couldn’t get the bedroom door open. Turned out, she’d gone to the wrong door and walked into the closet. She’d been so sleep deprived she hadn’t realized that was the problem. Bill had let her out and guided her back to bed, choosing to take care of Jo himself that night even though he’d gotten in late from a hunt and was sleep deprived himself. She’d told another story about Jo throwing up on the same shirt every time she put it on her and Ellen finally realizing the tag in back scratched Jo’s neck. Once she’d removed the tag, Jo stopped throwing up on it. ‘You were opinionated even then,’ she’d said.

Jo simply had no idea how well suited to being a mother she really was. She shouldn’t worry about being a mom. As much as she took care of other people, she’d be perfect as a mom. Sam thought she’d end up being quite a bit like Ellen eventually. She had enough Ellen in her to begin with.

They were going to be okay on that front, but there was no way they’d believe him if Sam told them that. Dean and Jo were going to be good parents, it was only trying to work in hunting that would make things weird.

But they were good at weird. That was the thing. He thought if anyone could make it work well, it was Dean and Jo.  


He looked across the table at Dean and Mick, each trying to one-up the other in bizarre happenings and comical stories. It was good that Dean had decided to join them. He’d been reticent to celebrate of late, more interested in talking to Jo and resting than drinking and socializing. While there was good in that -- Sam usually called Gwen and didn’t mind resting himself --, they both needed to get out of the room on occasion. Not that Sam wanted to do this all the time. He didn’t, yet he’d become used to deconstructing cases with others. Gwen really liked to do that and celebrate a good hunt and he thought dispatching a nest of vampires that had terrorized five states was something to celebrate.

“You are so not serious,” Dean laughed, tapping his beer bottle on the table.

“I’m totally serious, man.” Mick shook his head, sitting back in his chair. “I’ve never seen Jo so pissed. I mean this dude wouldn’t quit. Hands all over her, making obscene suggestions, a few that were even making me a bit uncomfortable. She hauls off and hits the guy. Bam! Right in the face.” He gestured with his hands. “Little Jo decking this big obnoxious dude.”

“That’s my girl,” Dean murmured with a glint of approval in his eyes.

“He’s so surprised kitten has claws that he steps back, trips, and knocks himself out against a table as he falls. Quiet in the entire room and Jo says, ‘That’s for grabbing my ass. Any of the rest of you jerk-offs want to mess with me?’ Applause from all the women in the bar. I’d thought I was going to have to intervene, but Gwen kept shaking her head not to.”

“How’d you meet them,” Dean asked. “Jo and Gwen, I mean.”

“Sophie caught a line on a ghost and we got there only to find Jo and Gwen wrapping it up. We recognized a hunter’s touch, introduced ourselves, realized we had friends in common among the four of us. Sophie and I usually work alone, but we don’t mind sharing information.” He leaned forward, arms crossing on the table, a curious expression in his blue eyes. “Speaking of sharing information…. I hear there’s a website being built, like an encyclopedia of weird only geared to hunters, with a message board for posting cases. Not just a website, but a resource with things that are hard to find. There any truth to it?”

“Where’d you hear about that?” Sam exchanged a glance with Dean. Ellen, and sometimes all of them, had been working pretty non-stop for months now on getting the information from the Campbell archives into something usable, but Sam hadn’t thought anyone but their small circle knew about it. Ellen was almost ready to go live with the initial database and had come up with the message board idea herself, the idea being that she could post descriptions of some of the cold cases and interested hunters could contact her for full information and discuss things among themselves.

“Where _haven’t_ I heard it? Rumor started a couple months back. Sophie heard it from a guy named Shawn.” Mick studied Sam, then Dean, and grinned. “It’s true, isn’t it? I thought it was a rumor. I remember a few years back, someone started one and didn’t get far. I think it’s a great idea. Organized hunting. We need all of the attack methods we can get. It’d be nice to have one place to go to for answers instead of floundering about in musty books.”

A server approached, setting fresh rounds in front of them.

Shawn. Sam recognized the name. He was one of the hunters that occasionally showed up at Bobby’s house looking for help. Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s true. Jo’s mom is on it, but it’s still in the growing stages and slow-going.”

“It’ll probably be that way for awhile,” Dean added, reaching for the third bottle the server set on the table. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He grinned at her.

The young woman blushed and returned to the counter at the back of the room.

Mick swirled the dregs of his beer in his mug. “Will it be editable? I mean, if someone discovers something or has knowledge not there, could a hunter edit it or at least add a new entry to the entry?”

Sam shrugged. “I’d have to talk to Ellen about it, but I don’t see why not. The plan is for it to be an expanding database, with new information constantly added. The only trick would be getting the older, experienced hunters to pass on their knowledge. Some of them know things it’d take any of us years to figure out by ourselves. Old habits of working alone and only alone die hard. It’ll be difficult to bring some of them around to new ideas and new methods. Even some of us younger hunters have trouble with new methods.”

Paper journals giving way to computer documents, Twitter, texts, and email obliterating letters and phone calls. Yeah, old hunters hated new methods, and those methods got more and more technical as time passed. Gwen and Dean preferred the laptop, while Sam wasn’t above venturing into other electronics and Jo never gave her opinion one way or the other. Sam had no idea where she stood on electronics.

As Bobby said, hunters couldn’t stay static and survive very long anymore. They needed to mix it up to stay ahead of the big bads of the world. Of course, he meant physical hunting methods not technology.

“True. It’s a different world now. The monsters are adapting to work with the times, we should to.”

“That’s a good point, Mick.” Dean slapped him on the shoulder, then jerked his chin towards the pool tables on the right of the room. “What’s say we play a couple?”

Sam watched them play and by the time Dean was ready to go, he’d had his fill of socializing. They said goodbye to Mick, wished him well on whatever hunt he was heading off to next, and returned to the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen Campbell woke with a scream, her hands going to her chest. Panic made her pant, nightmare images lingering in her mind, images she couldn’t forget. She looked about the darkened room, gaze searching the shadows, making sure she was alone. Slowly, she relaxed, one hand sweeping along the mattress beside her where Sam usually lay. The sheets were cool and there was no indentation from his body.

He and Dean weren’t at the base. They were out working a last couple jobs together before the baby came. While Jo still had a good month before her due date of late October, Dean was afraid she was going to go into labor early. Jo’s very pregnant belly supported that fear. She looked like she was carrying twins instead of a single baby. Ellen claimed it was just how her family carried babies -- all straight out front. 

Since leaving Battle Creek, Gwen’s dreams had been terrible things, beginning as short dreams easily forgotten and escalating into long nightmares she couldn’t forget.

In some, she was Aaron Carys, looking out of his eyes, while his wife Mia ripped into his chest and stomach. She felt the terror of being unable to move, helpless under the evil intent. In others, the worst ones and the ones she had the most often, she was Mia and halfway through killing Aaron, he morphed into Sam, who cried out ‘why’ before dying. Gwen would wake from those crying and shaking, firmly believing she had Sam’s blood on her until he’d turn the light on and she’d see that she didn’t. She hadn’t told Sam about those dreams, about the absolute certainty she felt that some morning she was going to wake to his mutilated corpse beside her.

Tonight’s dream had been a doozey. She’d been Aaron and had felt every slice of Mia’s knife, each drop of excruciating pain.

Aaron and Mia Carys. Her birth parents. One very good and the other a very twisted sort of evil come together to create her. Sometimes she almost wished she hadn’t burned the information Castiel and Abigael had prepared for her. She suspected it contained answers to all the still bugged her about her past. While she knew about her mother, she still knew virtually nothing about her father.

Who was he? Where had he come from? What had his family been like? Castiel had said he was a good man and came from good men, but what else had they been?

The dreams had to be just her subconscious trying to work through it all, Gwen knew that, but why did they have to be so vivid?

Tossing the covers off, she sat on the edge of the bed, gripping that edge for a moment before running her hand through her hair and glancing at the clock. It was just after four, the same time she’d been waking from her nightmares every time she’d had one. Did that mean something? She turned on the light, dispelling the sense of unease that remained beneath that circle of visually warm brightness.

A part of her wished Sam was there to hold her and help soothe the hurt of those terrible images. The rest of her was glad he wasn’t present as he’d press her for details. Any day now, he was going to ask her to elaborate and push until she gave in and did so. Maybe she _should_ tell him. Maybe it’d ease the dread she felt upon waking if she knew he was aware of the reason for it.

Getting up, Gwen opened the door and stepped into the living room. She stopped in the bathroom, then went into the kitchen, snapping on lights as she went. Having the lower level bright helped. Once there, she made herself a cup of herbal peppermint tea, just like her mother had once done. Patricia Campbell had been a big believer in the restorative properties of a cup of tea, especially peppermint tea for insomnia and particularly vile nightmares. Patricia had always drunk it when she couldn’t sleep and had given it to her children as well.

Gwen remembered her mother coming to her door and beckoning Gwen to follow her. She’d always seemed to know when Gwen couldn’t sleep, smiling softly as she’d prepared tea for both of them, asking what was on her mind that might have prompted it. They’d had several good discussions in the middle of the night, just the two of them.

When the tea had steeped, Gwen removed the bag and picked up the cup, sniffing the steam and relaxing a fraction. The scent was soothing, evoking good memories of being held in her mother’s arms. She sighed and went into the living room, setting the mug on the coffee table and picking up the journal she’d recently started. While she could have done this online or on the computer, there was something soothing about using a paper and pen for this.

There was no time like the present to record one more nightmare, the same thing she’d done every time. Sam encouraged her in it, telling her that after awhile of writing down the dreams and various details about the previous day, she might begin to see a pattern emerging.

She wrote, recording what she’d eaten earlier and the things that had happened. It wasn’t much, just more of the same they’d been having. Breakfast with Ellen after a run while Jo still slept, lunch at Bobby’s while trying to convince Ellen the computer wasn’t possessed, going through a box back here at base with Jo, uncovering reference books to add to the shelves upstairs and lugging the boxes upstairs so Jo could take care of the organizing part. After that had been a late light dinner and some mindless tv while Jo moved restlessly about the house, unable to sit still and claiming she just felt strange.

Jo was restless a lot these days, forgetful and unable to concentrate. She’d had a burst of energy the past month, painting and doing other things, like stand on tall ladders, that made Dean look like he was having heart attack when he discovered her. She’d spend hours arranging and rearranging the baby’s room, folding little shirts and onesies into neat stacks.

The stairs creaked and Gwen glanced to her left as Jo appeared, moving slowly and rubbing her side with one hand. “Can’t sleep either?”

Jo sighed. “Junior’s either practicing acrobatics or karate. Always with the four a.m. practice.” She sat on the couch beside Gwen, a drawn out act where she carefully placed a hand on the arm and one on the back before easing onto the cushions. She was slow moving now every day, a thing that frustrated her visibly. “I am so sick of being pregnant. I can’t sleep at night, can’t lie down without feeling that something is poking me funny inside somewhere, can’t spend half an hour without having to pee, can’t walk without tripping, and I think I’ve been grazing for two months.”

She studied Jo’s stomach. “Are you sure you’re not further along than you and Dr. Ames think?”

“Believe me, I’ve done the calculations until I’m sick of them and still come up with one month to go. If I could make it sooner, I would…you know, as long as he’d be okay.” She put her feet up on the table. “Why are you up? Another nightmare?”

Although Jo said it casually, Gwen could hear the concern in her voice. “Yeah. I keep thinking there has to be a point where they’ll stop, but they keep getting worse, more intense.” She slid her fingers along the chain about her neck, taking the three rings on it into her hand and holding them like they were a protective talisman. They were in a way. The fierce protection of Sam’s love for her.

Who ever would have guessed way back when they’d first met that things would turn out this way? That she wasn’t a Campbell by birth, but rather an orphan they’d raised as theirs? She wished Neal and Patricia had lived long enough to meet him. She thought they would have liked him. Maybe he would have reminded them of Aaron, like he had Mia, and maybe they would have answered the questions now rising in her mind.

Who was Aaron Carys? Why couldn’t she shake the feeling that Mia had only been the beginning of something worse to come, a second shoe yet to drop?

Maybe she was wrong. She hoped she was wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was nighttime that Jo had begun to dislike. As her belly grew even bigger and her balance shifted front and center, she’d started to have trouble sleeping. She’d wake up and go into the baby’s room, rearranging tiny clothes of various sizes in the dresser drawers and restacking the stash of diapers she’d been buying, also in different sizes. When Dean was home, he’d follow along behind her by maybe half an hour and coax her back to bed for awhile.

She just couldn’t rest, feeling like there was so much she had yet to do and no time to do it.

She’d clean the house, organize the shelves, and do it over and over, realizing in the back of her mind that she was probably in what was called the ‘nesting phase’, yet not wanting to call it that. As she’d stand and stare at the baby’s room, a sense of anxiety that was nearly a panic would creep over her and she’d wish they could go backwards in time. 

She wished she wasn’t pregnant.

The fact was, she was still scared that she’d ‘break it’ as she’d once told Dean, ignoring Dean’s own childish behaviors because she was doing some of them herself.

I’m not a mother, she thought. I don’t do mom things.

Jo turned from the doorway and went to the table by the bookshelves at the top of the stairs, sitting where she couldn’t see the open doorway. She pulled the file to her that she and Gwen had been working on. It was another cursed object from the larger file Bobby had given her and she thought they had the trail now, a chain of ownership that could lead to the object itself.

A cursed dress. Who ever would have thought? It was a pretty thing according to pictures, embroidered and beaded to such a degree that it was a work of art almost, a 1920’s flapper dress with a history of owners dying bloody, bizarre deaths. The dress had passed from person to person, but it appeared that it had to be worn to kill. Mere ownership of it didn’t cause the deaths. The person had to actually put it on. Jo wondered how it had come to be cursed. Perhaps the original owner had had a jealous rival, like a myth Jo had once read about where the rival cursed the fabric and caused the first death, not realizing that it’d continue to kill because the magic consumed the fabric itself? None of the clippings already there or Jo’s research had turned up much in the way of useful facts.

A scream from downstairs startled her and she sat back, frowning, listening carefully. She wasn’t worried that something had gotten in, as the house was as safe as their combined knowledge could make it. The scream hadn’t sounded like a scream of trouble. She heard the bed in Sam and Gwen’s room creak and then the door open.

Gwen must’ve had another nightmare.

Jo glanced at the clock on the wall, startled again when a baby foot kicked hard inside her. “Oh man,” she moaned softly, rubbing at the spot. It was right after four in the morning, a sort of pattern in Gwen’s nightmares, and she wondered if Gwen was ever going to tell Sam just how bad they’d gotten. She seemed reluctant to do that for some reason.

She turned her attention back to the file for awhile, but when the words swam in front of her eyes, she got up and went downstairs, joining Gwen on the couch and trying to get Gwen to talk about the nightmares. She failed in that regard.

“Ready for the party later?” It was a blatant attempt to change the topic and Jo let herself be distracted by it.

“No. Who knew my mother was desperate for grandkids?”

When Gwen had declined to throw Jo a shower on grounds that she didn’t do parties like that and wouldn’t know where to begin, Ellen had jumped in to do it herself. Jo had a good idea who all was invited aside from herself and Gwen: Melissa, Jodie, Sophie, maybe Abigael if anyone could call her down from heaven. Female hunters they knew. There might be a few other people, like old family friends Jo hadn’t seen since she was a baby herself and friends of Ellen’s who went gaga over babies, but mostly the list would include hunters. She just hoped her mom had left out the stupid baby shower games. No way Jo wanted to play any of the ones Dean had snickered about before he and Sam had left.

“She probably thought she’d never have any.”

True. Jo nodded. “She’s practically giddy about it.” She glanced at the kitchen. “You want some breakfast? I’ll make us something.”

“I’m fine with a bowl of cereal.”

“No, I mean really make something, like that egg casserole Dean likes. The one with sausage?” She had a sudden craving for eggs, cheese, and sausage all mixed together, which was strange because she hadn’t particularly cared for the casserole when her mom had made it.

Gwen set her mug aside and got up. “I’ll help.”

They worked together and when Gwen finally left to go on a run, Jo made a quick call to Sam. Might as well get a promise from him to talk to Gwen about the nightmares before the day really began. Then, Jo could feel like she’d checked another thing off her list of things she needed to do before the baby was born.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning came far too early.

Sam opened his eyes and turned his head, looking over at the other bed. Dean was asleep, his mouth open and probably a puddle of drool on his pillow. The idea for a practical joke came to mind, but he concluded that Dean would hardly be in the mood to enjoy it so he filed the idea away for future use.

He laid still for a long while, thinking about the cases they’d just finished and how strange it was to have a sense of fun come back into the job. Maybe fun wasn’t the right word. It just felt right again, like he and Dean were exactly where they were meant to be and life might actually work out for them. It was a good feeling.

Rolling onto his side, he glanced at his phone on the nightstand, then the clock, and back to his phone. It was too late to call Gwen before she left for her morning run. He’d have to wait until later. Sam got up and began part of his own workout, moving softly so as not to wake Dean. When he’d finished, he took a shower, and was surprised to find Dean awake when he left the bathroom to get his clothes. He was lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

“Thought you’d sleep for awhile yet.”

Dean sat up and rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. He sighed. “I want an early start. Sooner we get back the better, you know? Especially with t-minus thirty days and counting.” He shook his head. “Geez, Sam, I got too much to do before this kid comes.” 

There was that anxiety, rising already today. Sam grabbed his clothes and took them into the bathroom. He had a little impatience himself to be on their way and home. Since settling into the base, he found himself missing it when they were gone and looking forward to the greeting he got when he stepped through that door. Gwen would come to him, put her arms around his neck and tug him down for a string of heated kisses that usually had Dean rolling his eyes and telling them to get a room, right before Jo did the same to him. 

He dressed and returned to the room.

“You done in there?” Dean shoved the covers off and gestured towards the bathroom.

“Yeah.”

With a yawn, Dean stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door.

“I’ll get coffee,” Sam told the closed door. He was halfway back to the room when his phone rang. It was Jo. “What’s wrong?”

“Good morning to you too, Sam. Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something was wrong?”

“It’s early and you’re calling. You don’t get up this early, Jo.”

“I’m not in labor, if that’s what you’re worried about, and I do get up early if I happen to already be awake.” She cleared her throat. “I wanted to talk to you about Gwen while she’s still out running.”

“What’s up?” He balanced the coffee carefully and let himself into the room, closing the door with his foot. One cup tilted alarmingly before he managed to right it and set both down.

“Has she mentioned her nightmares to you at all?”

Not if she could help it. Gwen had given him bare details, but nothing that explained why the dreams were scaring her so deeply. “Sometimes she does, why?”

“She had a bad one this morning.” She yawned and followed it with, “excuse me. Sorry about that. Sam, she actually screamed this time, then admitted they’re getting worse. I don’t know what to do here. She’s barely slept since you left. I think the only reason she slept last night was the alcohol at dinner. I’ve been half tempted to dose her with something to get her to sleep.”

“We’ll be back later today. I’ll try to talk to her then.” Try? He’d make her talk. Somehow.

“Good. Dean up yet?”

“In the shower.”

“Oh. Well, see you when you get back then.” 

Sam hung up as Dean came out of the bathroom. “That was Jo,” he started. “She --”

Alarm flashed in Dean’s eyes. “She in labor?”

“No. She’s worried about Gwen.”

Dean blew out a breath, a hand pressing to his stomach. “Don’t do that to me, dude. I keep thinking the next call coming in is going to be that she’s in labor.”

“She’s got a month to go, Dean.” He handed Dean one coffee. “Here.”

“But she looks like she’s about to pop. I think she’s further along than she thinks.” His shoulders visibly relaxed and he took a drink of coffee before asking, “What was that about Gwen? She’s not still having nightmares, is she?”

“She is.” Sam began packing. “Bad ones, too. She won’t talk to me about them, I’ve tried. She’ll wake up and sit there staring at her hands, crying, then when she looks at me, all I see is dread and fear, like she thinks something happened.”

“They’re getting worse.” It wasn’t a question.

“They are. Jo confirmed it. She says Gwen’s barely slept since we left.”

“I bet she slept last night. When I talked to Jo about ten, Gwen and Sophie were tipsy on margaritas.”

“But she woke up screaming. Jo heard her.”

“Sure a må rt hasn’t latched on to her?”

“I plugged the keyhole and cracks and one didn’t appear. I don’t know. Maybe it _is_ just her mind trying to work through everything. It’s got to be rough learning your birth mother was a witch and killed your father when he tried to protect you from her.”

Dean packed in silence a long moment, then glanced up. “You don’t think Mia managed to somehow escape Molek and got in Gwen, do you? Possessed her?”

Sam sent a very unfriendly glance his way, though it wasn’t something he hadn’t thought about himself. He’d been watching her closely for any signs of strange behavior while they were back at base, but there was no strange behavior, only the escalating nightmares. “Thanks. That’s a nice cheery prospect, Dean, the evil witch possessing my girlfriend, but, uh, I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“You’re welcome.” Dean flashed an irreverent grin at him. Going into the bathroom, he gathered up his toiletries. “Well, what about a ghost sickness?”

“While she’s had the nightmares and fear, there’ve been no physical symptoms and if she’d contracted a ghost sickness, I’d think it’d take her by now. She’s been having nightmares since Battle Creek.”

“Good point. Okay. We get back, we watch her, see if anything new turns up, try to diagnose her.”

“Could be just dreams.” Sam zipped his bag closed.

“True.” He nodded in agreement. “Honestly, I’d be more concerned if she _wasn’t_ having nightmares. Things we see and have to do pretty much guarantee them.”

“She usually doesn’t have any though. I mean, none that hang around. Her nightmares are usually…normal garden variety.” Meaning they weren’t of the sort Sam and Dean often both suffered from. Having been in a very real, literal hell did that to a person. “Maybe it’s nightmare disorder.”

“Nightmare _disorder_? There’s such a thing?”

“There is and it can be caused by extreme stress or anxiety. I looked it up last night after we got back.”

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged his brows. “That night was sort of stressful. She probably thought she was going to die a few times.”

“Not to mention finding out that her mom really was evil didn’t exactly alleviate her anxiety about how I’d react to the truth about her birth parents.” 

Dean pulled out a slip of pink fabric from his bag, eyed it, grinned, and shoved it back inside.

“Was that…. Tell me that wasn’t a pair of panties.”

Dean glanced up. “No. Maybe.” He snorted. “Like you don’t carry something of Gwen’s with you when we leave base. Come on, Sammy. Tell the truth. You’ve got some of her silkies in that bag somewhere.” He pointed at Sam’s bag, twirling his finger.

“No, Dean, I bring the _knife_ she bought me or maybe the shirt. I don’t feel the need to carry around a pair of her panties.”

He frowned and zipped his bag with a shrug of his brows. “To each his own.” 

“Does Jo know you rifled through her underwear drawer and took those?”

“Of course she does. She gave them to me. I couldn’t decide between the satin ones or the silk and lace, so she --”

“More information than I want to know, thanks.”

Dean chuckled, then sobered. “So does Gwen have the symptoms of that nightmare thing? Does it fit?”

“It could fit. Vivid dreams, she’s alert when she wakes, not groggy.” When he’d hold her immediately after she woke, she’d be panting, a sweat on her skin. Sometimes, she’d even be shaking.

“Is there a treatment or something?”

Sam found it funny that they’d discuss treatments for Gwen while usually ignoring the probable need for it themselves. He uttered a half laugh. “Sure is. Basically, you reduce stress and create a ‘peaceful sleeping atmosphere’.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that.”

“I know. I’m almost hoping it’s something supernatural. At least with that we have a shot at stopping it. If it’s just her mind having trouble coping….”

“Sucks.”

“Yup.” Sam gave the room a final once over. “You ready? If we go now, we should be getting home right about the time Jo’s got the baby shower gifts put away.”

“Sounds good to me.” Dean grabbed his bag in one hand, his coffee in the other and led the way out to the car. Within minutes, they were gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo had never expected to have a baby shower. Her mother, however, had made it happen. It wasn’t a large gathering, just a few hunter friends for the most part, yet the very fact that she was having one kept making her tear up.

I’m having a freaking baby shower. How cool is that, she thought.

She shifted a little on the couch, grimacing from the pain that felt almost like a cramp and wondering if she was having Braxton Hicks contractions. It was probable Jo supposed. After all, she still had a month to go. She’d read a lot of women had them and as they came and went, she wasn’t alarmed by it.

“You okay, sweetie?” Ellen stopped on the way back into the kitchen, staring at her with a concerned expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He’s just a little active is all.” Why worry anyone needlessly? Dean was already convinced she’d go into labor any second. Every time she rubbed her belly or tried to stretch her back out Dean asked if she was okay and Sam would blanch and look panicked.

“If you’re sure….” Ellen’s gaze slid down to her stomach and she slowly turned back to getting the buffet table set up.

At the moment, there were only her, Ellen, Gwen, Melissa and Sophie present. Ellen was busy getting the food table set up, occasionally pressing Gwen or Mel to help her. Sophie was extremely hung over and wearing her sunglasses in the house, staying as far from the food table as she could and nursing a glass of ice water like it was a miracle tonic. She’d been late arriving and was currently waiting for the painkiller Ellen had given her to take effect. 

Mel appeared to be having a good time despite the fact that Sophie snarled whenever she tried to talk to her and Gwen only made grunting noises and shook her head or nodded. Then again, Jo thought Mel could have fun anywhere. She was too good natured to take things the wrong way even if they were intended that way. Gwen hated her, thought her too stupid to do the job, but Mel must be doing something right since she was still alive. 

A few other women had swung by since the shower had started at eleven and hadn’t stayed. Jodie was one of them. She’d been on her way to work.

Jo reached for her glass of punch and took a drink. Abigael had been invited. She didn’t know if Ellen had gotten hold of Abigael or not. The angels seemed to have disappeared entirely, neither Dean nor Sam trying to contact Castiel since right after Battle Creek. Dean’s explanation had been brief: Cas had a new job and wouldn’t have time for many coffee breaks. He hadn’t been around much up until now anyway, what with first the war, then trying to put heaven back together.

Another pain hit her and she rubbed her side.

What had happened with the AMP? Dean hadn’t mentioned it. Had it ever gotten off the ground? Had the angels found a use for the program graduates?

Melissa opened the front door and greeted the woman standing on the steps with a bright smile. Jo squinted against the sun shining in around the woman, trying to see her features. She was of medium height, with short brown hair, and a confident, almost swaggering air to her. She waved at Ellen, who waved back.

Ahh, Jo thought. One of mom’s weird friends.

The woman set a brightly wrapped present on the gift table and approached. Up close, she looked vaguely familiar, yet Jo couldn’t place her. “Congratulations, Jo. It’s good to see you well.”

“Thank you. I --” Before she could say anything else, the woman moved off to the buffet, not bothering to introduce herself, which solidified in Jo’s mind that it was one of her mom’s friends who assumed Jo remembered her. The mystery woman snaked a few cookies from one plate while Ellen wasn’t paying attention and turned back to the room, studying it and the people there, her stare falling upon Gwen and lingering.

Gwen looked over at the woman and followed Ellen into the kitchen. When she came back out, Jo beckoned her over.

~~~~~~~~~

Having rarely been to any baby showers, or _any_ that she could recall, Gwen hadn’t known what to expect, so she was pleasantly surprised to find that while Ellen had teased Jo about party games, she had none planned. Her only plan was a spread of food Dean would be sorry to have missed and a ton of pictures throughout the afternoon.

Gwen forced herself to talk to Melissa even though she hated her, mainly because Sophie was too hung over for a good conversation. Too many margaritas the night before and Sophie had been drinking them like the water she now had in hand. Gwen smothered a yawn with one hand. “I’ll be right back,” she told Mel. “Get the door if someone knocks?”

“Oh, sure. No problem.”

Going into the bathroom, she splashed some cool water on her face and contemplated asking Ellen if she’d brew a pot of really strong coffee. She wasn’t hung over like Sophie. Her trouble was trying to stay awake. The nightmares were beginning to really affect her days now. She knew she wasn’t getting the rest she should because she never needed naps, yet now she’d find herself dozing by afternoon.

Gwen patted her face dry, hung the towel back up, and stepped back into the living room, grabbing a can of soda from the cooler. She peered across the room at the woman placing a present on the gift table. There was something familiar about her, but Gwen couldn’t quite place her. “Ellen.” She stepped into the kitchen and got Ellen’s attention, indicating the woman with her can. “Who is that over there?”

“Who?” Ellen looked and shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought she was someone you or Jo invited.”

“No, I don’t think I know her.”

“Must be someone Jo knows then.” She dumped a second bag of Jo’s favorite cheese popcorn into a bowl. “Here, take this out for me. We’ll do the cake in a bit.”

But it didn’t appear Jo knew the woman. She motioned Gwen over and jerked her chin towards the woman. “Who is that?”

“Hell if I know. I’ve never seen her before. Ellen doesn’t know either. I’ll ask Sophie and Mel.”

Ellen came from the kitchen, more food in hand. “Come and get it, gang.”

Jo slid forward on the couch cushion, her standard preparation for standing up. 

The doorbell rang before Gwen could talk to either woman. It was Abigael, looking nervous. She was in casual wear of jeans and a t-shirt, holding a large present wrapped in multicolored polka dot paper. “I wasn’t sure what to bring. I chose a few things from the list. Baby showers aren’t exactly anything Castiel ever covered in lessons, but I thought it appropriate to make an appearance.” She stepped inside the house and glanced around the living room, frowning a little. “Feels…different in here.”

“Different how?” Gwen led her to the gift table to drop off the present.

“I don’t quite know. It’s…familiar. I’ve felt this before. Not recently, just…. Give me a moment.” She set the present on the table and faced the room, glance turning from one person to the next. The strange woman went into Ellen’s kitchen, Abigael’s attention fixating on her. Her eyes narrowed, lips parting. She brushed past Gwen and certain she was about to find out what was going on, Gwen followed her right into the kitchen.

Abigael stopped right inside the kitchen door and said a few words in a low voice. The woman’s body shifted, changing into a man, blond, with a neat beard and a mildly annoyed expression.

The Trickster.

“What did you have to go and do that for,” he said.

Gwen hurried to make sure the kitchen door was closed. Everyone in that living room would go ballistic if they knew he was there. Supernatural creatures, save Abigael, weren’t welcome at this baby shower. “What the hell are you doing here,” Gwen demanded in a low hiss. She’d thought they’d left him behind in Las Vegas.

“I don’t force you to appear whenever you hang around, angel,” he spat at Abigael, folding up the cookies in his hand into a paper napkin and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

“I don’t crash your baby showers in drag, Trickster,” she replied in a cool tone. “Leave now with no protests.”

He waggled his fingers at her. “Oooh, look at the big, bad angel. Or what? What are you going to do? I’m not harming anyone here, nor do I intend to.”

Gwen gestured towards the living room. “What’s in the present you put on the table?”

“A receiving blanket, if you must know, taken directly from the gift registry. The Tigger theme was too perfect a gift to pass up. I can play at being human too,” his glance slid to Abigael, “angel.”

“Why would you do that,” Gwen asked him, crossing her arms. How had he known about the registry? For that matter, how had he known about the shower? Had he been watching them? The idea that he’d been standing there near them just out of sight watching them creeped her out.

“Would you believe it’s out of the goodness of my heart?” He favored her with a cocky smile.

“No.”

The smile faded.

“Why are you here,” Abigael demanded. “If your presence causes anything to go amiss with the birth next month, I will personally end you.”

“End me?” He laughed. “You’re a junior class creampuff, girly, but no need for violence. I came to pay my respects to the pretty mama. I’ve done that and --”

“Pay your respects? I don’t buy that for a second.” Gwen moved casually towards the back door, though what good would that do to cut him off when he could simply vanish?

“I’m not lying,” he informed her. “I haven’t changed anything…except my appearance -- which the _angel_ changed back. No altering of any reality. I did bring a blanket and I did come to pay my respects.”

“Monsters don’t pay respects.” Gwen locked the door.

The Trickster clasped his hands together and pressed them to his chest. “Gwen, darling, I’m sad you think so ill of me. Here I thought we were soul mates.” He said it like a spurned lover barely holding back his emotions.

She snorted. “Where’d you get that idea?”

He lowered his hands. “Gabriel had an interest in Sam and Dean and he would have had an interest in Dean and Jo’s child. He would have come himself if he’d been around. He was a close friend of mine and I’m merely honoring what his wishes would have been.”

“The only reason Gabriel or any of the Arcs would have been interested was to use the child in some way, therefore, you’re a threat.” Abigael stepped towards him, raising one hand. He vanished and reappeared behind her. She whirled.

“You bore me, angel. Go away.” He squinted his eyes and snapped his fingers, Abigael disappearing. He sauntered towards Gwen, pressing her against the counter. He slid a hand along her hip, squeezed it, his other hand resting on the counter. His arms fenced her in. “You know…. I meant what I said the last time we met, Gwen darling. You and me together…we could trip the light fantastic, have a few wild nights…. Make something special.”

“You said before it’d never work,” she reminded him.

“I changed my mind.” He leaned forward.

Gwen put her hands against his chest to keep him back. “Let me go.” It was like trying to budge a steel column. She’d thought Sam strong, but he wasn’t this strong.

Leaning closer, he pressed a kiss to her cheek by her ear. “Your spark, my style.” His breath was hot against her skin. “Think about it.”

“No. My answer is no.”

“Let her go,” Abigael demanded, reappearing.

He drew back and rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers, once more sending Abigael away. “Always destined to be interrupted….”

“You can’t keep doing that,” Gwen protested.

His hands grasped her waist, fingers squeezing. He was less than his usual cocky self, his manner more determined than coaxing, his stare unsettling, gaze fixed firmly upon hers. “It doesn’t hold her for long, no, but…I admit, I longed to see you again, Gwen. Even if it was just to look at you and not talk to you. Can’t get you out of my mind. The child and it’s parents are of no interest to me…though I do admit I look forward to butting heads with _Sam_ sometime in the future. I think he’ll be a worthy opponent, like another man I once met. You figure out how you’re special yet?”

“I have a good idea.”

“The archangel bloodline breeding program. Well…not _everything_ is about the angels, though in their arrogance they’d like to think it is.” 

“You’re not talking about it?”

He smirked, but didn’t answer the question. “Tell the truth now. Do you really want to bear Sammy boy’s little archangel vessels? Wouldn’t you rather make something different than potential angel meat?”

“In what world do you think I’d choose _you_ over Sam?” Even though she knew it wouldn’t hurt him, she grabbed the knife Ellen had been using from the counter and thrust it into his stomach.

He released her and stepped back, anger rippling across his face. He yanked the knife out and tossed it in the sink. It sank deep into the porcelain. “I’m beginning to think you might not return my affections.”

“Aren’t you a smart one?”

His stare was cold, calculating, and he sneered, “I hear you’ve got renewed interest in daddy these days.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Shouldn’t leave your diary out, _darling_. It was just laying there, waiting to be read. I read all about your thoughts on daddy.” 

He’d been in their house, their base. Out of all the things they’d put protections up against, how could they have missed him? She’d remedy that as soon as she could get back to the house.

“If you ever come in our base again --”

“He was more than what you think he was.” 

The spite in his voice chilled her, goose bumps stripling her arms. What did he mean by those words ‘more than what she thought’? “Was he human?”

“Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. After all, mommy was a witch. Give her a few centuries down in the pit and she’ll be a demon. Why don’t you spin the wheel, Gwen, see what comes up?”

“You knew him.” Right then she could see that plain on his face. He’d known Aaron personally and hadn’t liked him at all. She thought ‘hated’ was probably the right word. He had, without one doubt, hated Aaron.

“He was a pain in my ass,” he spat, the fingers of one hand curling into a tight fist. His other hand lashed out, gripping her throat and pulling her close. “Very few people in centuries have been able to do what he did.”

She pried at his fingers as they squeezed her throat. “What did he do,” she choked out.

Abigael reappeared, her expression one of fury. She grabbed hold of the Trickster and disappeared with him.

Gwen rubbed her throat, forcing herself to take deep breaths. What the hell had just happened? He’d gone from determined and cool to furious in seconds.

The door opened, Jo stepping into the kitchen. “What’s going on in here? Where’s our mystery…” She gasped and put a hand on her stomach. “I really wish those pains would stop. Where’s our mystery guest? No one out there knows her. Tell me we didn’t have a shower crasher. And where’d Abby go?”

“Pains,” Gwen asked, moving from where the Trickster had maneuvered her. “Jo, what kind of pains are you having?

“Just pains. I’ve been having them since right after breakfast. The woman,” she prodded with raised brows. 

“It was --”

A rush of liquid splattered the tile floor and Jo looked down. “Oh no!” She shook her head. “No, no, no….”

“I think that means you’re in labor,” Gwen told her.

Jo gaped at her with wide eyes and open mouth. “But…I can’t be in labor! I have a month left!” She put her hands on her stomach.

Gwen wondered if the Trickster had the power to do this. She just didn’t know the full reach of his power. His brand of magic set natural things awry, but if Jo had been having pains since before he arrived here…. When had he arrived? How long had he been watching them?

“It’s not time,” Jo swallowed hard. “I’m not in labor.”

“Jo, you can’t press your knees together and keep the kid in there another month, not if your water broke.”

“Bet me. I’m determined. I can do it.”

Ellen approached, giving Jo and the floor a thorough once-over. “I guess I did see what I thought I saw. Son of a bitch. Party is now over,” she called over her shoulder. “Gwen bring my car around. Mel.… Would you mind putting the food away for me, then lock up and take Sophie to her motel?”

Gwen exited the house, wondering exactly what the Trickster was up to. What trick was he playing and how did he benefit? What was his game?


	3. Chapter 3

In high school, Jo had suffered through a tape in health class of a woman giving birth. At the time, she’d wondered why anyone thought showing it was a good idea. It was disgusting. Blood and fluids everywhere. The woman on the tape screamed like she was being murdered. Ellen had insisted Jo see the tape, even previewing it first. Why have Jo see it? So she could understand the consequences of sex and realize that they’d be painful.

Oh. My. God, were they painful!

Jo panted, gasping, more than ready for them to give her the pain meds they’d promised. What was taking so long? She’d thought dying was painful, but this was right up there with it! She gritted her teeth.

“You can’t push yet, Jo,” Doctor Ames said in a soothing tone that made Jo want to shoot her. If she’d had a gun with her, she just might have. “You’re not fully dilated. We’ll take care of the pain in a minute.”

“Screw this. I can’t do this. I want it to stop. Can you give me something to stop this? I’ll go home, come back in a month.” She knew better however and didn’t try to move, starting to cry, tears filling her eyes. Home was going to be very different from now on. They’d have to do some things differently and while they’d known that, it all came slamming into to her in a rush.

She and Dean were going to be responsible for a baby, _their_ baby. They’d have to do dinnertime, bath time, naptime, story time and all the sort of ‘times’ that went with being a parent.

Fear snaked through her and Jo squeezed her eyes shut. Where was Dean? She needed him there with her now! He and Sam had left early. They should be back. He should be here at her side.

Ellen clasped her hand. Her other hand stroked Jo’s hair with gentle touches. “Shhh, Jo. Do your breathing when they come and rest when they aren’t. Save your strength for when it’s time to push. It might be awhile, sweetie.”

Jo gripped the rail as tightly as she could with her other hand. “I want Dean! Mom, I want Dean!” Tears wet her face. “Where is he? He should be here by now!”

“I know. I know. You want me to go out and try him again? See how close they are?”

She nodded and tried to distract herself by thinking of everything that had happened until now, all of the happy moments with Dean and their excitement for this moment. She sighed in relief as the pain lessened, the meds taking effect.

I’m going to be a mother, she thought. Soon, it’ll be over and I’ll be a mom, not just some pregnant chick. God help me.

~~~~~~~~~~

It occurred to Gwen after an hour that she needed to go back to the house. Jo’s bag was still there, since they hadn’t expected her to go into labor for another month, not to mention there was the little matter of Trickster-proofing the place somehow. 

A sharp sense of violation pricked at her like a knife, followed by outrage. The two slid back and forth in varying degrees, one rising as the other fell, over and over.

She was debating whether or not to simply walk back and talk to Ellen when Ellen came out and tossed the car keys at her. “Here. Run to the house and get Jo’s bag, the birth mix cd or iPod or whatever it was Jo and Dean made for this, then stop at my house and make sure Mel locked up.”

“How is she? Any progress?”

“Jo’s fine. They were getting the pain meds ready when I stepped out, but it’s gonna be hours yet. She’s barely dilated at all in the past hour.”

The drive to the house was a tense one. Who knew what she’d find? He could have been in there any time, maybe gone through her drawers…. Gwen shuddered and turned into the driveway, stopping halfway to the house. She turned off the engine and sat there a moment, watching the house. Had Abigael managed to take care of him? She hoped so. She hoped the angel had burned him up or something to get rid of him. Gwen didn’t care, as long as he was gone.

The house was silent and still in the late afternoon sun. There were no signs that anyone or thing was inside and yet Gwen couldn’t force herself to get out of the car and go in. She didn’t want to do this alone and knew she needed help anyway, so…. Gwen took out her phone and dialed. 

Bobby Singer answered on the fifth ring. “What?”

“Bobby, it’s Gwen.”

“You just called an hour ago. Jo drop the kid already?”

“No, no, it’ll be awhile. I need to talk to you.” She got out of the car and shut the door, feeling a bit better for having his voice there in her ear.

“Can it wait? I got work.”

“No, it can’t wait. I need a protection spell or symbol or something against tricksters. I don’t care what as long as it works or might work. _Anything_.” The yard looked the same as it always did, nothing out of place and she took a few steps towards the house.

“You wanna tell me what happened to get you in a tizzy to do this now?”

“Not particularly.” Gwen glanced back at the car, reassuring herself it was still there.

“I’m in the middle of something and if you want me to drop it all and help, you gotta tell me something.”

She let loose a long sigh. “I can’t give you the long explanation right now, but…the Trickster showed up. The Alpha one, Bobby, the original, not one of his descendants. He’s been in the house and I need to get protections against him up ASAP.”

“You’re sure?”

“He admitted it and I believe him. Do you have any protections against him?”

“Off the top of my head? Maybe. Might be a long shot, but…. I’ll take a look and get back to you.” He hung up on her.

She paced on the front lawn, trying to pretend she wasn’t afraid to go in the house alone. It was silly and yet…. One hand raised, touching the bruises developing fast on her throat. It wasn’t silly. He was dangerous and he’d made it clear he could find her, that he _wanted_ to find her. She’d made the mistake of not putting him in that ‘dangerous’ category in her mind and he could have killed her. He could have killed all of them.

Close to an hour later, a car pulled up beside her, dust from the drive swirling up and dissipating. Bobby got out. He brought a sheet of paper to her. “Closest thing I could find fast. Don’t even know if it’ll work. It’s the first one I could find.”

“Thank you. Would you mind…going in with me?” She gestured at the house.

He stared at her, eyes narrowing, and adjusted his cap. “He really spooked you?”

She glanced away quickly, bit her lip, and admitted that weakness before looking back at him. “Yeah.”

“It’s never fun when they take the fight to your home.” Expression softening, he went up the steps and into the house. “Come on. We’ll give it a once-over and do some painting.”

They added the symbol to those already adorning various places in the house and when they were done, Gwen found Jo’s hospital bag and returned downstairs. “Thanks, Bobby. I feel kind of silly now.”

“Don’t. It’s not fair they do that, but life ain’t fair. You got a base, they’ll swing by to put you on high alert every so often. Thought you knew that? You grew up on a base, right?”

“I did. As a kid, I never noticed.” She’d known they’d watched and waited for things to attack. She’d seen it all, and yet it had never connected to her until this moment that things had breeched their defenses sometimes. As a child, it hadn’t registered and as a teenager, she’d been occupied with other issues, like the woman she’d called ‘mother’ and loved as one dying of cancer.

“Then your folks were doing a good job of protecting you.”

She returned to the hospital to wait. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean paced back and forth, glancing either right or left every couple paces depending on which direction he was turned. This wasn’t going the way he’d assumed it would. He cleared his throat. “You’re jealous, I can see it. You’ve had my attention for years and now my attention is going elsewhere. You’re feeling neglected, hurt, maybe even a little angry at me, but right now is _not_ the time to be acting out! Come on!”

Sam returned from the gas station across the street, set a plastic bag in the car and opened one bottle of water. He took a long drink, then recapped it and asked, “still won’t start?”

“No.” The word came out almost a sob. They were so close and yet so far away at the same time. “I’m missing the birth of my own son!” It was entirely possible in his opinion that by the time they got there, his son would be born and Jo would be pissed that he’d missed it. He really wanted to be there, too. Dean gulped in a breath.

“Wait, you knew it was a boy?”

“Of course I know, Sam.” He leaned over, peering at the engine he knew so well, attempting to piece together what could possibly be the problem. He’d looked at everything already. Nothing should be wrong. He kept her in tip-top shape. They should be driving, getting closer by the minute, but no….. His baby decided to stall and stop an hour from home. “What with the little blue clothes, the sayings on them, the books Jo’s reading, and the Doc’s circumcision questions there was no way I wouldn’t put the numbers together.”

“Right. We’re only an hour out --”

“That’s an hour my boy could show up without me there!” He looked over at Sam, watching several expressions flash across his face in wild fluctuation. Unease, panic, apprehension. All negative things.

“Um…well…he’s…Jo’s first baby and I read somewhere that first babies take awhile on average, sometimes over twelve hours. So…try to relax. We’ll get you there.”

Try to relax? That was all he had? “When Gwen is pushing out your kid and you’re an hour away and can’t freakin’ get there, then you can tell me to relax!”

He held up his hands. “Sorry. I’m trying to be reasonable and calm --”

“You think it’ll take awhile? Not that I want Jo to have a twelve hour labor….”

“It’ll be an hour to get Bobby here and another hour to get back. That’s two, which’ll make four since Gwen and Ellen called.”

Actually, it was more like four and a half. He’d been counting. “But they said she’d been having pains for hours. Doesn’t that count?”

“Um…I…I don’t know.” He shrugged, uncertainty slipping across his face.

“Because if it does, she’s already up to seven…eight hours!”

Sam shrugged slowly. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

“You can spout off obscure folklore, but don’t know at what point it’s considered labor?” Sam’s freakish well of obscure knowledge had to fail now? Figured.

“Yeah….”

“I can’t just stand here waiting for Bobby to show up.” He got back under the hood, sweet talking like she was Jo being a bit ornery. “Come on, baby. I’ll still spend plenty of time with you. Not like I’m putting you in storage. We’ll still go out together….” Dean went back through all the steps he’d previously taken, talking in a low soothing voice the entire while and forcing himself to move slowly when he wanted to hurry.

Finally, he leaned over. This better work, he thought. If it didn’t, he might just have to start hitching and leave Sam to wait for Bobby to show up. “Okay, start her up.” The engine roared to life and Dean let out a relieved laugh, closing the hood. “She just needed a little reassuring, that’s all. Move over, I’m driving.”

Dean drove as fast as he could, ignoring Sam’s dramatic white knuckles and gasps. He was only going…thirty over the speed limit. That was nothing. He pushed the accelerator harder. Vaguely, he was aware of a buzzing noise behind them, but ignored it, parking in front of the hospital by a ‘no parking’ sign and telling Sam to take care of whatever the noise was. It wasn’t the Impala, so he didn’t particularly care. He found the front desk. “Hey, hi, my wife is in labor.”

Within twenty minutes he was gowned up, and taking Ellen’s place beside Jo.

~~~~~~~~~~

Although Sam did his best not to react to Dean’s driving, he couldn’t help the tight fists or gasps at the close calls they made and when they hit the bridge and he heard sirens, he slid down in the seat and braced himself for the inevitable.

Sheriff Jodie Mills walked up to the passenger door and waited for him to open it and get out. She crossed her arms. “You know, one of these days, you boys are going to hit that bridge at eighty and it won’t be me watching for speeders.” She cleared her throat. “Though it was closer to ninety this time.”

Sam glanced around them. People were curious, slowing their steps, trying to hear what Sheriff Mills was saying. “Yeah, Sheriff, I know. I’d say it won’t happen again --”

“But it will and we both know it.” She glanced at the hospital entrance, her stern expression softening. “I’ll give you a verbal warning this time only because I know Jo’s in labor and Dean’s a first-time daddy. Heck, he probably didn’t even hear the sirens. Pass it on to Dean after the baby is born and I suggest you park in the garage across the street.” Jodie gestured with a hand. “Try to stick to the speed limit for awhile. I’ll stop by when I get off work to see how things are progressing.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I will.” Sam parked where she suggested and went in search of the maternity waiting room. He found Gwen there, sitting cross-legged in a chair and flipping through a magazine while she listened to music.

She saw him and got up, setting aside the worn magazine and battered iPod.

He hugged her, then drew back a fraction, curving his hands around her upper arms and squeezing lightly. There was a hint of strain on her face that seemed out of proportion to the situation and he noticed bruises on her neck. “How is she?”

She shrugged, her hands resting on his chest. “In labor. I guess it’s going okay. Ellen went in with her until Dean could get here.”

His attention slid down to the marks on her neck and he touched a finger to them. “What happened? Where’d you get these?”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“Looks like someone grabbed you by the throat.” Sliding his hand onto the marks, he realized he had to be right. Someone had tried to choke her. “A little excitement today? What hap--”

“I’m okay, Sam. Not ready to talk about it.”

“At least tell me it’s not ghost related.”

“It’s not, though it is a problem.”

“You’ll tell me about it in the very near future?”

Resignation flickered in her eyes. “Soon. I need to get my thoughts straight about it first.” 

Ellen joined them as he took the chair beside Gwen.

“For awhile there, I was worried you boys wouldn’t get here.” Ellen sat as well.

“For awhile there, I didn’t think we would either.” He related the troubles with the Impala. “I thought she had a month to go. Is there a history of preemie births in your family?”

“Not a one, but the baby is big. Dr. Ames thinks it’s just time. He’s impatient to meet the world.”

The waiting was the hard part. Late afternoon became evening without much in the way of progress in labor, though Ellen assured Sam and Gwen it was normal for dilation to take awhile. She said it had seemed like hers took a full day to happen, which wasn’t a thing Sam had cared to know, but since Ellen rambled on about babies and births and what was and wasn’t normal, he decided it was best to let her talk and ease her worries that way. Sort of the same reasoning behind letting Dean carry on with horrible jokes. She didn’t appear to care if they were really listening.

Sam took Gwen for a late dinner in the cafeteria. They went through the line, putting together salads from the salad bar and picking up the daily special. He led her to a table at the far corner of the room away from the other people.

He stirred his salad. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” 

Taking a bite, he studied her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t start to eat and after a long moment, she cleared her throat and turned in her chair.

“Sam, what do you know about the Trickster? His powers, I mean.”

“Why do you ask?” His heart beat a bit faster at the mention of that creature. He’d be very happy if they never had another run-in with him ever again.

“Just tell me.”

He shoved his tray back and turned to face her. “Well, he creates alternate realities from reality, likes to teach people lessons, especially the jerks of the world. He causes chaos, disorder….”

“Can he fling an angel away from him?”

“Maybe, I guess. If he wanted. Create a reality and shove one into it. At least I assume he could. I’m not sure. Don’t know how much of what Dean and I know was actually Gabriel’s powers. Castiel said Gabriel was too powerful to be a Trickster, but he never explained which power tipped him off to that. It could have been how he kept sending him away, or it could have been how well he was able to trap Cas. I don’t know. Why?”

Gwen looked ill, hand pressing to her stomach and lip curling. “Because he was at the shower.”

“What!” He leaned over, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “What do you mean he was there?”

“He walked right in like he’d been invited, pretended to be a woman. Abigael outed him in the kitchen and he flung her from the house twice before she was able to get a grip on him.”

“What’d he want?”

“His usual wooing me stuff --”

“He’s stalking you now?” He shook his head and uttered a short, humorless laugh. “That’s just great. I don’t recall ever dealing with a supernatural stalker before.”

“Sam, I think he knew Aaron. He told me Aaron was more than I think, that he was a pain in the Trickster’s ass, that he’d done something to the Trickster that few people were able to, and he said it…and grabbed me by the throat. Talking about Aaron made him angry.” She turned back to face the table. “He was furious in seconds.”

“Where is he now?” He curled one hand into a fist.

“Abigael took him away.”

The fist relaxed. “Then I’ll wait until I hear what she has to say before going after him.”

She nodded and licked her lips. “I called Bobby, had him find a protection symbol. He helped me add them and then he did Ellen’s house, too.”

Time passed. They returned upstairs.

In gradual degrees, the waiting room emptied out over the hours until it was only Sam, Gwen, and Ellen left. Bobby had called a couple times for information on Jo, but hadn’t put in an appearance. Sam didn’t expect him to. Ellen dozed with her arms crossed, legs stretched out, and chin to chest. She’d declined the pillow and blanket the nurses had offered.

Gwen hadn’t. Currently, she was asleep with her head on a pillow on Sam’s lap, the rest of her stretched out on the chairs in an awkward position, a blanket over her.

Sam didn’t doze. He couldn’t. Not when he could hear Jo. It was faint, yet definitely her voice he heard. He was afraid for her and Dean and sat still, stroking Gwen’s hair while she slept and staring at the tv bolted high on the wall. It was on a cooking channel. The nurses kept offering to change the channel for him and he declined. It wasn’t like he cared what was on.

What he cared about was that, for Dean’s sake, Jo and the baby were healthy at the end of this and each passing hour dragged his worry higher.

Ellen made a snorting noise, gasped and opened her eyes. She sat up, rubbed a hand over her face and squinted at the clock. “That say two or three?”

“It’s almost three.”

She nodded and got up, stumbling around the room for a moment before going into the bathroom at the far end of the room. When she emerged, she came and sat beside him. “It’ll be okay,” she told him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it.

It was the gesture more than the words that reassured him and Sam nodded. “I hope so.”

“Jo comes from good stock on both sides. Dean does too. That’s a lot of good in that room.”

“Do you have any idea how surreal this feels to me, Ellen? Dean has a wife and they’re in there having a baby. A _baby_. I just…. I want…. I….” He shrugged, glancing down at Gwen to make sure she was still asleep. She was. “She said once I’m like a kid standing outside with my nose to the glass looking in, afraid to come inside. Do you think….?”

He meant to ask if she thought that some day he’d have a wife and child as well, but the words wouldn’t loose from his throat.

Ellen released his hand and raised hers, pressing it to his cheek and swiping her thumb along his skin. “It’ll come, sweetie. All in good time.”

“Ellen --”

“One day you’ll blink and you’ll know. As strongly as you feel things? You’ll know.” She dropped her hand. “I’m going to try to sleep awhile longer. You should to. I suspect tomorrow is gonna be the big day.”

Sam didn’t sleep. He stayed awake and waited for news.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was maddening to not have any control over any aspect of this experience except making sure Jo’s face was wiped with a cool cloth every so often and that she had his hand to crush whenever she wanted to. Dean wanted to have it over already and the baby there with them. As time passed, he grew antsy, glancing towards Dr. Ames, trying to gauge the actual progress by her expressions. She’d never seemed anxious these past hours, always calm whenever she came in to check Jo’s progress

“You are so having the next one,” Jo gasped, relaxing a moment.

She’d been in labor for twenty-two hours now. Only the past three had been devoted to pushing. Her face was shiny with sweat, her cheeks red, and her hair plastered to her skin, but to Dean, she’d never been so beautiful as right now, giving birth to their child. “You’re doing great,” he told her, blotting her forehead with a cloth.

She slanted an annoyed glare his way and, chin to chest, pushed again. “Get him out,” she growled through clenched teeth.

Dean pretended he hadn’t heard that little word ‘him’. He was avoiding looking anywhere but at her face, doing what Dr. Ames had suggested. She’d told him to focus on Jo, try to make her feel beautiful and special and completely in control of this out of control situation. He’d ignored the angry phase Jo had gone through at hours fourteen to nineteen where she suggested he march himself to the nearest doctor and demand to be snipped before the baby was even born. He’d also ignored the muttering that if he didn’t, she’d just do it herself because he had to sleep sometime.

Even with the drugs she’d insisted on, she was in pain. He could see it, plain there on her face, and it was hurting him to know he couldn’t do anything about it. There was nothing he could do to ease any of this except just do what he was already doing, so he did that to the best of his ability.

The first glimpse of their child knocked the breath from him. He struggled to breathe, relieved and happy. Their boy was alive and well.

He swallowed hard.

He was a father now.

Dean’s hands shook when he was allowed to embrace his son for the first time. His emotions ran wild, but beneath all of them was a single question: why had he been scared of this? This was a good thing, a right thing, and he wanted to feel what he was feeling forever. He grasped a tiny hand in his and didn’t try to stem the flood of tears that fell from his eyes.

“He’s beautiful, Jo. God, look at him.” He let the nurse take him and hand the baby back to Jo. “I think I want ten more now.”

“Ten?” She half laughed, half cried. “What’s say we at least get through the terrible twos before we start talking more babies?”

The moment was perfect and Dean basked in it, willing it to last as long as possible. The world could wait.

Bending, he kissed Jo, watching to make sure the nurse only took their son across the room. He alternated his attention between the baby and Jo, snapping pictures with his phone whenever he remembered he had it with him, and barely paying attention to anything else. Minutes went by, Dr. Ames telling Jo to just relax and they’d be done in a minute. Dean turned his head.

Dr. Ames held something up and he looked at her, trying to make sense of what she was holding. He blinked, squinted, and asked what it was right as he realized what it was. The afterbirth.

He had a sudden strange sensation of lightheadedness. The world tilted sharply and Dean lost consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pain meds were wonderful, Jo reflected. When Dr. Ames told her to stop pushing, Jo listened carefully for a tiny cry. She was rewarded a moment later by a cry and a sensation of relief so overwhelming that exhaustion slid through her like a wave, crashing over her. She looked up at Dean. He was crying and Jo knew she was too. Their baby was born, their beautiful precious baby boy. Red, wrinkly, and beautiful.

The following moments were a blur until….

“Hang on, Jo,” Dr. Ames said. “Don’t push, okay? This’ll just take a minute and we’ll be done.”

Jo closed her eyes, smiling at having it finally over.

“What the hell is that,” Dean asked. His hand slipped from hers and there was a loud thud.

“Dad on the floor,” one nurse remarked. 

“Dean,” Jo called out, opening her eyes. He was on the floor, out cold. “Dean?” 

The nurse stepped over to him and crouched down, smiling up at her. “Happens sometimes. Big tough guys can’t stand the sight of the afterbirth..

“Oh.”

He roused quickly and the nurse led him outside into the hall.

Quickly, the room was cleaned and the nurse who’d been with her when they’d brought her in -- Bess -- helped her to shower and put on a clean gown, then return to bed. She’d have a little while to rest and then she, and the baby, could have visitors.

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel stood with three women, two of which appeared bored and were looking down at their clipboards and writing. Every so often, the oldest of the two would glance at the oldest of the three in question. Anticipation was palpable in the air and not just from the four of them, but from the humans present.

From his place, he had the sort of clear view of Jo’s nether regions that would have Dean wanting to draw and quarter him if he knew Castiel was there. He avoided looking, keeping his attention on his companions and on Dean.

He’d seen Dean in many different situations before, many of them dangerous and life threatening, yet he’d never seemed as brave as he did now. Odd how being present at the birth of his own son made Dean seem brave. It was a truth, though. This birth was a terrifying moment. Inside Dean’s mind swirled the fears of every single thing that could go wrong. If anything should go wrong….

Castiel looked at Clotho.

She made a tick on her clipboard and stretched her hand out for him to shake. She’d come and gotten him hours earlier, announcing that ‘it was time for the next generation of Winchester to be born’. Lechesis and Atropos had met them at the hospital. “To a long departmental partnership.”

He shook her hand and nodded.

She tucked her own clipboard beneath her arm. “I’ll be going now. Lechesis? Are you coming?”

The middle sister shook her head. “In a moment. Not quite finished…. Atropos, you’re not needed today.”

The youngest of the Fates left with the oldest, leaving Lachesis behind. She wrote busily in her book as the cries of Dean and Jo’s child ringed the room. Finally, she closed the cover over the board and smiled at him. “Don’t worry so, Castiel. You have three days to bring the child’s Guardian to meet him.”

“Will something happen after three days where he’ll need her?”

“Would I tell you,” she quirked a brow at him and smiled.

“No, but I thought I’d ask nonetheless.”

She slid an arm chummily through his. Lachesis had always been the friendliest of the three. “Relax, Castiel. You’re far too uptight. The basic course of the child’s life is determined. After his guardian meets him, have her make an appointment to see me and I’ll share the pertinent data with her. I merely say three days because that’s how long I’ll remain in the area. Really. I’d thought you’d remember I always stay three days.” She drew him from the room and into the hall. “This is a happy day.”

“It is.”

“I’m very glad all of our departments are working together. I mean that. You and I could be seeing quite a bit of each other over the coming centuries. We should go have a drink to celebrate, get to know each other --”

He loosed his arm from hers. “I should find the child’s Guardian. You did say three days.”

She straightened his tie, then smoothed his coat. “Very well. Perhaps we’ll have that drink another day?”

“I don’t think so, Lachesis.” He took a step back. “I believe you’re more fate than I can handle.”

Lachesis laughed. “You sweet talker. Way to let a girl down easy.” She began to walk down the hall towards the stairway, then glanced back. “Until the next child, Castiel.”

He waited until she was gone, then smiled softly to himself. It was nice to see lighter hearts in all of the departments associated with heaven, especially those three. They could do an unstoppable amount of damage if they chose.

Castiel went in search of Abigael.

~~~~~~~~~~

Abigael waited in the park down from the hospital, sitting on a bench contemplating her failure. What a way to really start her job. She’d let the Trickster get close to Jo and the baby, hadn’t been prepared when he’d flung her halfway across the world, twice, before she’d managed to grab hold of him, and had had to spend precious time taking care of him.

The ensuing fight had been difficult, countering his brand of magic harder than she’d anticipated, and she was currently exhausted. Attempting to wipe his mind of the Winchester’s location had been as tricky as he himself was, but in the end, she’d managed and never wanted to have to do that again. Humans were hard, but creatures like him were a different breed of mind. The way his mind was put together was unusual and didn’t make a logical sense. Chaos for a chaotic creature.

No one had told her he was that powerful. Castiel hadn’t mentioned it. She hadn’t known he could push her like that, hadn’t realized what he could do. Changing reality was one thing. Shoving an angel through time and space quite another. She’d underestimated him.

She heard a fluttering of wings, but didn’t look up from her contemplation of the sidewalk. “You didn’t tell me the Trickster had that power. He sent me to Afghanistan in the middle of a battle, Castiel. I wasn’t prepared. It left the baby open to attack.”

“Did he attack?”

“No, unless his presence is what made Jo go into labor.”

“You fought him.”

“And I’m tired. Do you know how hard it is to alter the memory of a creature like him? Have you ever tried that? I almost thought I was going to get lost in his mind.” Yet she’d managed, altering his memories, then dumping him back in Las Vegas to wreak havoc there on the tourists. A part of her wondered if she should have taken his life.

“What did he want at the baby shower?”

“I think he wanted Gwen.”

“What did you find in his mind?”

She swallowed hard. “I saw memories of her father. His fixation on Gwen --”

“Is not your concern.”

Abigael looked up at him. “Castiel?”

“Your assignment is the child, not Gwen. Let it go.”

How did he expect her to let it go? She couldn’t. The creature had slipped into the base right beneath her nose. “When he thinks about her again, he’ll search her out, likely with the same sort of results.” 

“She’ll deal with him. Or Sam and Dean will. Maybe Jo. One of them. Your focus is only the child. You’re his guardian, not theirs.” 

“He’ll find her and …” her thoughts turned in furious circles as she tried to find a loophole, “by extension, he’ll find the child. The two are connected -- ”

“The rules --”

“ _Screw_ the rules.”

He blinked, head drawing back as though she’d punched him. His mouth opened and he let out a breath, obviously taken aback by her vehemence. Was he remembering that he’d said pretty much the same thing once? He should. He paced a few steps, looked at her and paced a few more. Finally, he nodded. “Your reasoning is sound. If he returns to the house looking for Gwen, harm could befall the child. Use your discernment for the situation. In your position, you have liberty to use it, choices with it others won’t have, but your decisions must have the welfare of the child in mind in some way. Remember that, Abigael. The child.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “Speaking of him…he’s born. You’ll need to meet with Lachesis within the next couple days to receive the data pertinent to your position.”

“I’ll see her later today.”

“Good. Abigael? Remember as well that this is a Winchester child. Anything that could go wrong, just might.” He glanced towards the street. “I’ll return in the morning to take you to meet him.”

He was gone with another fluttering of wings and Abigael pondered his statement. Anything that could go wrong….

Perhaps she’d better have a cram session regarding all of the creatures the Winchester brothers had ever dealt with, then the ones Jo and Gwen had dealt with. It was for the welfare of the child, of course. It’d be best to be prepared just in case.

She left to do research and set up her meeting with Lachesis.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam followed Dean to a table in the cafeteria, unable to hold back a tiny smirk. Really, it was sort of funny. Dean fainting? That didn’t happen every day. It happened…never that he could remember. Surely Dean expected Sam to tease him about it just a little? He’d certainly give Sam grief if roles were reversed. “You fainted?”

“It was low blood sugar,” Dean said for the fifth time, setting his tray on the table with a thump and shooting an annoyed glare at him. “I haven’t eaten in hours. Could’ve happened to anyone. Still a bit woozy from it.”

“But you fainted.” He pulled out a chair and sat. Oh, the mileage he could get out of this if he chose!

“Passed out,” Dean corrected, sitting as well. He looked haggard, stubble darkening his jaw and dark smudges beneath his eyes, yet at the same time, it was a good type of haggard.

“It’s the same thing, Dean.”

“Is not. Fainting is a girl thing. Passing out from hunger is entirely different.”

“Uh-huh. Did Jo faint? She’d probably eaten less than you.”

He mixed the puddle of gravy through the mashed potatoes. “No.”

“And you did.” He ate a bite of sandwich and asked the question he was dying to know the answer to, “What was happening?” Or rather, what was the real reason Dean had fainted because he didn’t buy the low blood sugar excuse. Maybe it could be true, he just didn’t think it was.

“They held up this…thing. Man, it was,” he held up his hands, making gestures like he was feeling around a large, roughly oblong object, “…bigger than the baby. I swear it was. The thing was huge and,” he held up a finger, “I’ve seen some disgusting things in my life, but that?” Dean emphasized with his raised finger. “Seriously the grossest, nastiest thing --”

“Oh, you mean the afterbirth,” Ellen said cheerfully, joining them. She was just as haggard as Dean and showing every year of her age. “Placenta.” She cut into her Salisbury steak with gusto.

“And it came out of my wife. I’m traumatized.” Dean looked down at his plate of Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and overcooked green beans with a disgusted grimace. “Maybe I’m not hungry after all.”

“Don’t feel bad, sweetie. Birth is one of the most disgusting things on the planet. I remember when I had Jo, Bill wouldn’t shut up about it. He went on for a month after about how gross it was.”

He poked the meat with his knife and fork a moment before cutting it into bites. “But that minute when I got to hold him…. Man, it was….” He looked at both of them, a tiny grin tugging his lips. “I’m in love with my baby. Sounds strange to say, but totally true.”

Sam ate slowly, watching Dean, noticing a change in him already in the hour since the baby had been born. There was a gleam in his eyes, more than a hint of anticipation for this new direction. The fear Sam had been seeing was, if not gone, then far less than it had been. Dean was well and truly happy. Ecstatic even and charging forward to face this new future.

It made a warm sensation of gladness spread through Sam. He wanted to see Dean happy and know he had the life he’d wanted. It fascinated him to watch the changes come about and feel an answering tug inside himself for those same things. He couldn’t wait to see how Dean and Jo were going to handle the baby _and_ the job together, feeling almost like he was holding his breath about it, his own anticipation rising. If Dean and Jo could blaze this trail and prove it could work, then maybe….

He forced himself to push on with that thought. If they could do it, maybe he and Gwen could as well. Maybe Ellen was right and some day in the future he’d look at Gwen and know it was time for one of those rings he’d given her or another.

Dean stopped eating and stared at him, gaze moving over him in that perceptive way Dean had. Even in the midst of his own joy at present, he’d noticed Sam was thoughtful. “You okay, Sammy?”

He tried for nonchalance and shrugged. “Yeah, why?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You’ve got this weird look on your face.”

“Weird?” He waited, but Dean didn’t elaborate. “Like weird how?”

“Just weird.” He picked up the salt shaker, salted the entire plate and went back to eating. “Why don’t you spill now and save me the trouble of trying to get it out of you later?”

He sighed. “I’m just thinking is all.”

Ellen didn’t say anything, merely glancing back and forth between them.

“Thinking about what?”

“It’s not important.” Besides, he could see Gwen going through the line and if he started talking about her and the future, she’d come in right in the middle of the conversation and he wasn’t ready to have another conversation with _her_ on the subject, let alone talk about it to them. He flicked his gaze back to Dean, who’d paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

An amused light grew in Dean’s eyes and he shot a quick glance at Gwen. “I think I can guess. Has to do with a certain ornery miss headed our way.”

“You’re like a book on her sometimes, Sam,” Ellen said and sat back, shoving her empty plate away and setting her coffee cup directly in front of her on the table. “One that’s wide open and in large print.”

“I am?”

Ellen nodded. “To those who love you and know you best, yup.”

“Oh. Good to know.”

Gwen joined them and when they’d all finished eating, they returned to the maternity ward to visit Jo and the baby. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Fainting was just as embarrassing as Dean had always imagined it would be, but eating had helped. He no longer felt woozy and dizzy, confirming in his mind that it had been a combination of hunger, stress, and maybe standing with his knees locked straight.

“You feeling better?” Jo eased back into bed as though her entire body ached. It likely did, Dean supposed. Birth had been a more strenuous process on her than he’d realized even after having read those books on it.

“I’m good. Just for the record, the Salisbury steak here is awesome.”

“I wouldn’t know. I had chicken and rice.”

He carefully picked up their baby. “Jack.” Dean tried out the name in whispers as he held the baby, taking a few minutes before Sam, Ellen, and Gwen came in. “You really like the name, Jo?”

“I do. I would’ve said before if I didn’t. You know that.” She adjusted the hospital gown at her neck. “I hate hospital gowns. Never fit right.”

He looked at her, trying to convey with a glance how much he appreciated her appearance. “Not flattering to most, but may I say, Mrs. Winchester, you rock that look.” She’d think he was lying or just flirting, but he really did think she made the gown look good. Dean moved closer and handed Jack to her, brushing his mouth to her ear and whispering, “We should get one of these to have at home. I’ll be the doctor if you’ll be the patient.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Tease,” she breathed back at him.

Dean stood up and held up six fingers. “Six weeks and then….” He shrugged his brows several times.

Jo giggled. “I’m so looking forward to it.”

The nurse who’d brought Jack in returned. She was young, her name Amy, and Jo seemed to like her. Her smile was cheerful. “Ready for the first visitor? You’ve got three, but they can come in one at a time, stay for a few minutes. Don’t want either of you getting overtired the first day.” 

Sam was the first to come in, uncomfortable in the sterile gown. Dean could see that in the minute changes in his expression and in how he shifted his shoulders. The suggestion that he hold the infant brought a flash of panic in his eyes and Sam shook his head.

“No, thanks, I’ll hold him plenty back at the house.”

“I don’t mind you holding him, Sam,” Jo said with a smile. While Dean had been getting some food in him to stop the lightheadedness, she’d had a shower, a light meal, and a twenty minute nap to get her through having visitors. Her hair was wet and neatly braided. She looked exhausted and peaceful at the same time.

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure….” The fingers of Jo’s right hand slid along the blanket wrapped about Jack.

“I am, thanks. For having had so many hours of labor, you look good, Jo. Not like you’re about to drop at all.”

“Liar.” Her smile widened into a grin. “I look tired.” Her attention lowered to Jack. 

Sam looked at Dean and sat back in the chair. “Congratulations. Who would have thought --”

Nurse Amy stepped outside, the door thumping softly closed behind her.

“A year ago. I know. This is wild, Sam. Whole new ballgame. New game, new rules.” He glanced at Jack. “I just don’t want to be like --”

“You won’t,” Sam interrupted before he’d even gotten the entire thought out. It didn’t surprise him that Sam knew the direction his thoughts lay. Sam _would_ know. “Different situation from the start and while you may be like him, you’re not him. You’re you and you’ve got me, Gwen, Bobby, and Ellen along with Jo to be right there with you.”

“I still worry about it.” He did, too. He worried that if something happened to Jo he’d go off the deep end in grief and end up toting Jack around like his dad had them.

“Dean, you’ve proven so many things wrong that you thought were true just in the past year and a half.” He shot a long glance at Jo and Jack. Jo wasn’t paying any attention to them, smiling down at the baby. “That’s something right there and Jo won’t let you be like him.”

“Huh?” She looked up. “I won’t what?”

“You won’t let Dean be like dad,” Sam told her.

Her smile slid away into a thoughtful frown, gaze shifting from Sam to him. “Is that what you’re worried about, Dean? That you’ll be like John?”

He admitted it with a slow nod. “I _am_ like him.”

She blinked several times, obviously taking care to choose her words wisely before speaking. “Dean, your dad was a man driven by grief and emotional pain and while you do have the potential of that in you, if some similar situation were to rise, you wouldn’t be alone in it like he was. Sam would be right there. Gwen, mom, Bobby…probably even Castiel and Abigael, maybe other angels. You have support and family your dad didn’t have. Your life is different. There’s no comparison.”

Nurse Amy returned.

Jo cleared her throat. “He was a good man. Remember that and forget the rest. There comes a time when we have to do that. Our parents aren’t perfect, none of us are, but I don’t see the point in holding on to the bad. It’s over, done, decisions were made by an imperfect man. He did the best he could and so will you whatever happens. I know this as a fact. I see it every day. I’ve never seen you give less than your best, even when you’re pretending you don’t care or feel like you just can’t do it, you still manage to. I’m not worried. You’re you.” She shifted Jack a little in her arms. “Maybe you are like John, but that doesn’t necessarily have to mean something bad.” 

Sam sat forward. “Well said, Jo.”

She shrugged. “It’s true. You two get so torn up over him and he was doing what he thought was best in a series of bad situations. Maybe his choices were right, maybe they were wrong, but you’re both here. You’re alive and good at your job, not to mention you’re both _awesome_ men. I think John did one helluva a job raising you in spite of adversity. Who’s to say we could do better in that situation?”

She always gave him something to think about. Just when he thought he knew what she was thinking, she said something that made him stop and look at something a new way. “Who’s to say,” he repeated.

With a glance at the door, Sam pushed to stand. “I should let Ellen and Gwen come in.” He touched Jo’s shoulder with one hand. “Gwen and I will get the room ready tonight so all you have to do tomorrow when you get back is put him in his crib.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

He left and Ellen came in a moment later.

She cried when she held Jack and teared up more when she looked at Dean and Jo, moving past dainty tears to just plain bawling. “You know, back in Carthage, all these thoughts went through my head of things Jo would never get to experience, so this… _this_ ….” Her chin trembled.

“You don’t have to tell _me_.” Jo bit her lip.

Had Jo had thoughts of her own like that as she’d sat on the floor of that store dying? He knew he’d had thoughts then that he’d never get a chance to find out if they were a good fit, but had hers gone past that to moments like this? Had she seen the life she’d, at that point, never have flash before her?

He felt teary himself at the remembrance of Carthage and though the ache from it had been negated by Zachariah’s actions and Jo and Ellen’s return to themselves, he still felt the emotions caused by that day. It still made him sad to think about that day.

“You’re a mama now, Jo, and I’m damn glad to see it.”

Emotion passed between mother and daughter, but Dean had no time to feel the slightest bit left out or that he was witnessing a private moment, because Ellen handed Jack back to Jo and came to him, grabbing him into a tight hug that squeezed the breath from him.

“Thank you, Dean,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his.

“For what,” he asked.

Ellen drew back and cupped his face in her hands. “For making Jo whole again. For being everything she ever wanted and giving her the world.”

The nurse crossed the room and placed a fresh pitcher of water on the table beside Jo. “You’re a passionate family,” she commented.

Jo looked at her. “Mom and I were in a bad accident a few years ago and we almost didn’t make it. Dean helped put things back together. He…he _mostly_ put things back together for me. Without him I’d be lost.”

He swallowed hard at that reminder.

With a sigh, Ellen released him. “I need to let Gwen visit and then I’m heading home for a nap and a shower. I’ll be back in a few hours.” She left.

From the doorway came an amused voice. “So, what does Batman call his son?”

“Bat baby,” Dean suggested as she moved from the doorway to the bed. “You want to hold him?”

“Twist my arm.” She held out her arms to take Jack and while she’d claimed to have held a baby only rarely, she did just fine, showing no fear of taking him. She touched one hand with a finger. “He’s so tiny.” 

Wonder played on her face and, in a single second, Dean saw the longing in her eyes and in how she touched that little hand. Gwen wanted this for herself. She wanted to be a mother, too. Good luck convincing Sam, he thought. She might have quite a wait for motherhood. 

She glanced at him. “You _did_ pick a name, though, right? Something halfway normal? Tell me you’re not naming him Aloysius or Tiberius.”

“Tiberius is a classic,” he told her.

Gwen snorted. “You don’t pick your kid’s name from Star Trek or a Preston Child novel, Dean. I don’t care how good either is.”

“No stranger than what some of the stars do.”

“We named him Jack,” Jo informed her, reaching for a cup on the table and taking a long drink of ice water. “And not after anyone, so don’t believe him when he claims we’re honoring Jack Nicholson.”

“Good name. Nice and normal.”

“And it’s baby approved.” Dean stretched his legs out. “He kicked every time I said it.”

“Not every time,” Jo corrected.

“ _Every_ time,” he talked over her just to watch her roll her eyes.

Gwen grinned. She stayed longer than Sam or Ellen and appeared reluctant to leave. “I guess I’ll leave you two to bond with your baby awhile. We’ll all be back tonight sometime.”

He wasn’t far behind them, leaving so Jo could take a longer nap than the twenty minutes she’d had, and promising to return right after dinner.

Dean sat in the Impala for a long moment before starting her. It was over. The birth was done and now…. Now they had to figure out just how to do their job and still raise their child.

~~~~~~~~~~

One night without a nightmare. It would have been an answer to prayer if Gwen had slept more than a couple hours at a time all night. As it was, she’d barely had time to slip into a dream cycle before she was waking up hoping for news on Jo. She’d slept with her head on Sam’s lap. She didn’t think he’d slept at all.

She was washing her hands at one sink in the restroom when a figure appeared beside her. Her heart seemed to skip a beat before she recognized Abigael.

“I apologize for the customary angelic arrival.” Abigael leaned against the wall. “You should be aware that I’ve dealt with the problem from yesterday. His memories of your location are buried deep. I doubt very much he’ll regain them anytime soon. I also took the liberty of tweaking the newest symbol on the house.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “You should all be relatively safe from him for awhile. Long enough to research how else you can deal with him.”

“Thank you.” She dried her hands on a paper towel and threw it away.

Abigael glanced at the ceiling, then around them. “Gwen, you initially chose to ignore the information about your birth parents. May I ask what’s changed?”

“I’ve been having nightmares, bad ones, that center around Aaron’s murder. I thought if I find out more about him, they might go away or lessen.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Where did you start your research on him, Abby?”

She glanced back up at the ceiling. “Everything you need to search is right in front of you. I left it for you to find if you were of the mind to go down that road. If you really want to see it, it’s there.”

“I don’t…. Where? What?” There were a ton of things that could be considered right in front of her. Did she mean a file, a case, something in the Campbell archives? Or something entirely different? What?

“At the risk of being too cryptic….” She took a deep breath. “All that glitters certainly isn’t gold. Look around, Gwen. You’ll find the first breadcrumb. It is _right_ beneath your nose.”

“Where? At the house? At Bobby’s or Ellen’s? Is it --”

Abigael shot an annoyed glance towards the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I dislike being the typical angel, but I have to go.”

She was gone, just like that, leaving Gwen to wonder where to start looking and reflect once more that Dean was right. Angels were frustrating creatures, even one who behaved more human than the rest.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam’s evening visit went much the way the afternoon visit had, but he still declined to hold Jack. How could he explain why he was reluctant? He knew he’d hold the boy sooner or later and knew he’d become used to it quickly, yet he wanted to prolong the time until that first moment. He wanted to hold off on the attachment he knew he’d develop. How could he not develop one? It was inevitable. If something happened…. 

He went to the waiting room.

“I have a proposal for you two,” Ellen motioned for Sam and Gwen to follow her.

“What’s that?” Sam took Gwen’s hand in his as they walked down the hospital corridor. When they turned the corner, Ellen put out a hand to stop them.

“You two should take a week or two, stay somewhere else.” She glanced behind them in the direction of the room. “Let them have time with the baby, just the two of them.”

“You want to throw them in the deep end without lifeguards,” Gwen translated.

“Be good for them.” She crossed her arms. “Trust me. Dean and Jo need to experience baby’s first week home by themselves and…you’ll thank me. Newborn baby? Not much sleeping gonna be going on, at least not by them. Don’t let either one of them talk you into stayin’ either. It’s the fear of being alone with the baby talking.”

“I’ll talk to Dean about it.”

An hour later, when Gwen was in visiting with Jo and Jack, Sam took Dean down to get some coffee. “So…. Gwen and I’ve been thinking. You and Jo, you need time together with your baby and we thought we’d stay at Bobby’s for a couple weeks, keep working on the file Jo had going, help Ellen take the passwords off the database pages.”

“Dude, you’re not leaving. We need all of us there. It’s non-negotiable. I need you there. _Jo_ needs you there.”

Sam shook his head, smiled, and shrugged. “I don’t think either of you do. I think you and Jo should spend a week or so focused on your child and only on your child. It’s an important time for the three of you --”

“You sound like Ellen.”

“She’s right.”

“She put you up to this?” He snapped a lid on his coffee cup. “Man, I need you at the house and Jo’s gonna need Gwen to help her. You’re important.”

“Nice to hear that, Dean, but I think it’s more important that you and Jo have the time with Jack to get to know him. Learn about his personality, find out what feeding schedule works best, things like that. Do all those parent things. Read stories to him, have Jo sing to him, things like that.”

“He’s a brand new person, only been born a few hours. What kind of personality could he have possibly developed from birth until now?”

Obviously, Jack did have a personality. He already displayed impatience when he was hungry. Rather like Dean come to think of it…. “All I’m saying is you should have privacy together to enjoy the first few days as parents.” He lifted his cup from the counter. “Besides, I plan on making Gwen scream my name really loudly and it might wake you, Jo, and the baby. You all sort of need sleep.”

“Now there’s the real reason,” Dean muttered, “and one I can get behind. Fine. Go take a week or two and sex up your girlfriend.” He reached out and smacked his hand against Sam’s shoulder. “Take her to Vegas. Hit the casinos, see if you can’t beat our winning streak.”

Considering the Tricksters interest in her, he didn’t think that was a good idea, especially since Las Vegas appeared to be his locale of choice. “I was thinking more along the lines of staying fairly local.”

Like staying at Bobby’s house as Ellen had suggested and working on the file and website.

Tonight however, since Dean was staying at Ellen’s due to her house being closer to the hospital than their own, he had a little something planned. As soon as he and Gwen stepped inside the house, he set that plan into motion.

While Gwen was in the bath, Sam made dinner, which consisted of heating up a bagged frozen meal, tossing a bagged salad with precut vegetables, and making sure there was still beer in the fridge. He put a cloth on the table (Ellen had brought it over once for a reason unknown to all of them), added a couple of mismatched candles to the center (one was scented, the other not), then headed into the bedroom to turn down the covers and get out the massage oil.

A nice romantic evening should relax her and once she was so relaxed she was falling asleep, he coax the story of her nightmares from her.

He put his iPod on the dock and started the long play list he’d created for times like this. Gwen appreciated his taste in music in a way Dean never had, probably because her own taste was rather eclectic. She’d listen to soft rock and heavy metal back to back and see nothing odd about it.

Preparations complete, he sat on the couch and waited for her to finish her bath.


	5. Chapter 5

“You should go take a bath.”

The way Sam said the words sent a little shiver of anticipation along Gwen’s spine.

“Are you saying I stink, Sam?” Gwen smiled and took off her jacket, hanging it from a hook just inside the door.

He returned the smile, hanging up his own jacket. “No, just…take a bath. Read awhile. Relax.”

“Okay.” She grabbed a book, drew a hot bath with some of the bubble bath Jo hoarded, and did as Sam suggested. After an hour, Gwen emerged from the bathroom to find the living room dark save the light of a few candles and soft music playing. “Sam?” She tightened the sash on her robe and moved towards the table.

“Dinner is…ready.” He brought two plates from the kitchen, setting them on the table.

She approached, looked the table over. He’d put that tablecloth Ellen had brought over on the table. “Mmm. Romantic candlelit dinner.” Gwen quirked a brow. “I like.”

“We haven’t done this in awhile and once the baby is home, I doubt we’ll have any more opportunity than Dean and Jo.”

His idea of a romantic evening didn’t end with dinner and drinks. He’d gone all out, dancing her around the living room and back into their bedroom, playfulness twining with sensual purpose. He was gentle and teasing, yet rough at the same time, the next couple hours passing quickly.

A pleased groan left her and she stretched, feet pushing the covers further down the mattress. “As much as I appreciate these romantic gestures…. I get the feeling there’s more to this than relaxing before Dean and Jo bring the baby home.”

Sam gave her a long kiss, then slid his hand along her back. “Roll over.” Once she had, he brushed her hair to one side. His lips touched the nape of her neck, tongue swirling for just a moment. “Close your eyes.”

She heard the click of a lid and felt a line of warm liquid along her spine. Sam began to massage her neck, shoulders, and back, the action as intuitive as always. He used the right amount of pressure to make her feel like she was melting into a puddle of goo. She slid quickly down into a state of drowsiness, smiling when she felt Sam trail kisses along her spine.

“So….” The flat of his hand swept up her back a final time and he settled beside her. “Another nightmare?” He traced an imaginary pattern of swirls along her arm and shoulder.

Gwen sighed, opening her eyes. “I should have known Jo would tell you. While I was out running, right?”

“She’s worried. I am too.” He propped his head on a hand. “Tell me about them.”

“Sam….” She sat up, reaching for the sheet and dragging it against her. “What good is talking about them?”

He sat as well, scooting closer, curving a hand about her neck, thumb caressing her skin. “It could make them less painful.”

“Every hunter has nightmares.” It was an excuse and they both knew it.

“Sure, but yours are getting worse.”

“You never tell me your nightmares,” she protested.

“Why are you so scared of those dreams?”

She looked at him, uncertain if she should give in and share the dreams of not. He wanted to know, concern in his eyes. “Because in the worst of them I kill you. I kill you and bathe my hands in your blood.”

His brows rose. “I can see how that would be disturbing.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“They’re not only disturbing, Sam. Disturbing I can handle. I’ve handled it for years. What I’m having trouble with is how realistic they are. I’m in a house and at first I’m Mia. I hear a baby crying, smell herbs and smoke, like an incense, and I see Aaron on the floor, his shirt open. He’s trying to move and he can’t. I feel Mia’s anticipation and pleasure as she straddles him and sinks the knife in his stomach. The blood is hot, his screams….” She licked her lips and looked away. “Halfway up his stomach, he becomes you and I’m me. I know it’s you because of the scars and tattoo.” Reaching out, she touched them, fingers lingering on the scar of that wound she’d stitched up many months earlier. “I know it’s you because you ask me why. You say my name and I feel all those things Mia felt. Is insanity hereditary, because she was bat-shit, over the moon crazy.”

He cupped her face with both hands. “You’re not insane. First off, Mia was a witch, from a family of witches. Likely she’d been dabbling since before she could even read. She was twisted and no matter how great the physical resemblance between you, you aren’t her. It’s a perfectly natural thing that a child can have such a strong resemblance to one parent. You know that.”

“But --”

“No.” He shook his head. “If anything is wrong, I think it’s more like a touch of PTSD or nightmare disorder than insanity.”

She raised her hands, grasping his forearms, feeling the cording of muscle beneath the skin. “What if when Molek possessed her, he displaced her, shoved her out, and she got in me?”

“You’re protected. The tattoo --”

“Is against demonic possession, Sam, not spirit. What if she’s inside and when I’m asleep, she’s trying to gain control?”

“You’ve been reading too many of those novels Jo pretends she can’t stand and hides under the cushions whenever one of us walks in the room.”

“It’s a possibility. We both know things like that are reality, not fiction.”

“Cas talked to you a few days after we got back. Did he say anything that’d make you believe that could be true?”

“He asked if I had any aftereffects, seemed like he was expecting something mental or emotional, then declared me physically sound.”

“Have you tried calling him down here?”

Gwen looked down at the bed. “No. I’m not comfortable doing that.” She was hesitant to get into the same mindset of always calling on Castiel that Sam and Dean had fallen into and had struggled hard to release themselves from.

“Okay. I can understand that.”

“What if the dreams are prophetic? What if --”

“What if they’re not?” Releasing her, he adjusted the covers. “I mean, you should be there for the aftermath of some of Dean’s nightmares. He’s had some pretty real ones and so have I.”

“Lasting weeks and getting worse?”

He was quiet a moment and then his head dipped in a slow nod. “I have. For awhile, I had these dreams that I lost my soul again, only it was Lucifer that took it. He snatched it as the cage closed and tossed my body back, knowing full well what I’d be like without my soul. He did that because it’d hurt me to know what my soulless body would do, how I’d behave and he taunted me about it. It was an elaborate dream and each one added something new and then…. I made peace with what had happened. I couldn’t change what I did without my soul, but I could move on from it.”

“How do I move on? How do I get beyond this?”

“Your dad died in a terrible way, Gwen, and your mom was an evil witch. That’s a lot to take in at one time. You have to work through it and it’s going to take time. You’re not her and you’re not him.” He laid down, sliding an arm beneath his head on the pillow. “And if it turns out there’s more to it, we’ll deal with it. Gwen, don’t be afraid to talk to me. We’ve always been able to talk, even from the beginning. I don’t want what’s between us to change that. You should be able to tell me these things.”

“It scares me,” she admitted.

Curving his hand about her forearm, he gave a light tug. “Come here.”

She went, lying beside him, her body pressed to his and her head on his chest. “I thought that finding out something about them would be the end, but there isn’t an end is there? I’m always going to have more questions.”

“Maybe.” His hand stroked her back with soft touches that tickles a little. “Do you want to start looking into him?”

“I think I should. I’m kicking myself now for burning that flash drive.”

“I questioned the move at the time.”

Gwen closed her eyes. “It’s going to be the same thing we ran into with Mia, Sam. Journal entries that are cryptic and, speaking of cryptic….” Reopening her eyes, she turned onto her stomach and raised up onto her elbows. “Abigael showed up in the bathroom at the hospital. Winked in like the rest of the angels and winked back out.”

“What’d she have to say?” His fingers didn’t stay still, sliding over her skin like he wasn’t aware he was doing it, up and down her arm, over her shoulder, across her chest. He was trying to keep this light, distract her a little, and she appreciated that effort.

“That she took care of the Trickster for us. That she left breadcrumbs for me to find the information on Aaron. Her big clue for me is that all that ‘glitters isn’t gold’, said it’s right in front of me. How’s that for cryptic?”

“That’s all she said?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. That could mean anything.”

“Yes and she knew she was being cryptic, too. Acted like she couldn’t really talk, like maybe someone was listening.”

“Maybe someone was.” Sam slid his hand down her chest, fingers drawing circles now on the curve of her breasts. “So, agenda for tomorrow morning. Pack, make sure the baby’s room is ready, start combing the journals for solid info on Aaron. Sound good?”

“It does actually.”

“Good.” He rolled her onto her back as he shifted position half over her. “Now enough talk and shop talk. I’ve got more plans for you.” His head lowered, lips nibbling a line just beneath her jaw to her ear. He whispered those things he’d planned, his hands growing bolder as he spoke, and by the time he was done describing, Gwen didn’t hesitate to surrender to the moment.

She woke hours later, refreshed and without the tension that had been steady in her back and shoulders. Sam’s magic hands had done wonders -- in more ways than one.

Gwen smiled. She’d almost forgotten what waking well-rested felt like. It was light out, the sun peeking through a crack in the curtains. Rolling over, she stretched. Sam wasn’t in bed with her, the sheets on his side cool to the touch. He’d been awake awhile.

With a yawn, she looked at the clock. It was right at nine. She’d slept for over ten hours. No wonder Sam wasn’t there with her. He’d probably been up at seven. Sitting up, she rubbed a hand over her face and through her hair, grimacing at the tangled mess she found. “Sam?” Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat before calling out again.

He pushed open the door the rest of the way, a mug in hand. He was mostly dressed, in jeans and t-shirt, but his feet were bare and he hadn’t yet put on a button-down shirt. His hair was damp, falling over his eyes, and he pushed it back with his free hand. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Better. I slept. If I dreamed I don’t remember them.”

“Good. Here.” Coming to the bed, he handed her the mug. “Dean just called. They’re releasing Jo and the baby in about an hour. He said already today he’s had to deal with Jo sobbing out of control because she found out she shouldn’t have coffee. Something about nursing and the baby.”

“Yeah, the caffeine. It’s not good for….” She blinked a few times, mind feeling a little fuzzy. “Jack?”

“Jack,” he confirmed. 

She smiled, set the coffee on the nightstand and pushed the covers aside. “Well, if they’re going to be back soon, I should shower and get dressed.”

“I already packed your car.”

“You got everything?”

“I think so. Your laptop, the files you’ve been working on, our clothes…. Yeah.” He opened the curtains, letting the sunlight in and Gwen winced at the brightness. “The crib is in place and I put everything out according to the diagram Ellen gave us. I think we’re good.”

“Off to Bobby’s we go. Give me about twenty minutes.”

She was ready in fifteen, wondering if she could convince Ellen to cook her breakfast when they got there.

~~~~~~~~~~

Motherhood sucked.

In general, that was.

Jo sat in the wheelchair the staff and Dean had insisted she ride in out to the car and admitted to herself that she was sulking just a little because she wasn’t getting her way on more than one thing. 

She’d wanted a nice gigantic cup of coffee, a vat maybe, this morning and had been told she shouldn’t for awhile until the baby settled in at home and she and Dean could gauge if Jack was sensitive to it or not. He might have a sensitivity and if she drank it while breastfeeding, he might not sleep well. Her kid and Dean’s? She snorted. He should have caffeine and beer and a touch of whiskey for blood.

Then there was the fact that the jeans she’d wanted to wear home were still a little too snug through the hips and waist. Fastening them hadn’t been an option. She’d tried. She’d even laid down on the bed, but that hadn’t helped. She was stuck wearing the maternity jeans. Still.

Not for long, she told herself. No way was she going to spend any more time than she had to in maternity clothes. Time to get back on the sensible eating plan and practice her field skills. Slowly, of course, like it was recommended for new mothers. She’d ease back into it. Not like she planned to dig a grave sized hole or anything…. Not this week anyway.

Finally, there was the matter of breastfeeding. It had seemed like such a good idea when she and Dean had been planning, but no…. Her body didn’t seem to want to make any milk for the baby. Nothing, nada, zip, zilch. The nurses in the ward were full of advice for her, the biggest being to be patient about her milk coming in. They said it would, that this was perfectly normal and she should relax. One nurse suggested drinking a little non-caffeinated root beer to help, another suggested plain beer, and a third said those were all old wives’ tales and to ignore them. 

Jo thought a little credence to tales was sometimes a good idea, especially knowing the sort of things she knew. She settled on root beer as her first try, though she was dying for a beer after months without. Her tolerance had gotten so low that she suspected Dean could get her drunk with two shots of whiskey -- and would the first chance he got.

She watched him put the baby carrier in the Impala, looking for all the world like he’d practiced with it the night before. She wouldn’t put it past him. She could imagine him standing out at the Impala with her mom standing over him, making him do drills until he could get the carrier in the car in under a minute. When the door was closed, she handed him the balloons and other presents on her lap, and stood, taking her own sweet time getting into the car. She breathed in the familiar scent of the Impala and sighed. 

One of the nurses, she couldn’t remember who it was now, had said the first two weeks were brutal on new parents but after that they’d be fine. It’d be smooth sailing.

Glancing at the back of the car, she saw that Dean was on his phone. Talking to Sam maybe? Jo checked Jack, made sure he was still breathing and settled back in the seat, closing her eyes. She sighed again. She was exhausted and felt more than a little ‘blah’, like the entire day so far had been anticlimactic. The birth was over, so now what? When they got back, she was going to take a shower and nap, preferably in that order.

Jo nodded off before Dean had even gotten in the car.

~~~~~~~~~

At 10:50 AM, Sam’s phone rang. He picked it up and glanced at it. It was Dean.

“Yeah?”

“We’re leaving the hospital,” Dean said, his voice oddly strained.

“Good. That’s great. Are you whispering?”

“Sshhh! Not so loud,” he hissed. “It’ll be a miracle if starting my baby doesn’t wake my baby.”

“Jack’s asleep?”

“So far.”

“How’s Jo?”

“Tired, cranky, moody, emotional…. Take your pick any given minute. Doc said she’ll be that way for a few days, maybe longer. Are you still at the house?”

“No. We’re at Bobby’s.”

“Chicken. I told you, take Gwen to Vegas.”

“Bond with your baby, Dean. I gotta go.”

“Fine. Let’s see if I can do this without waking the baby.”

Ellen approached the table and set two plates piled high with food before Sam and Gwen. When they’d arrived, Gwen had convinced Ellen they’d had no food in the house and were starving to death. Either Ellen had really bought it, or she’d wanted to cook and used Gwen’s story as an excuse. Likely the latter. When she was at Bobby’s, she took over the kitchen and no one argued with her on it, least of all Bobby. “Here you go.” She gestured to Sam’s phone. “Don’t cave, Sam. You stay right here. Dean can handle this without you.” Her glance slid to Gwen. “And don’t you head out the second my daughter calls you, either. She’ll con you back to the house if she can.”

“I wouldn’t,” Gwen began then trailed off and looked down at her plate with a chagrined stare. “Okay maybe I would.”

“For the next couple days, they’re gonna be tired, scared, and pleading for all of us to come in and help them, but they’ll be fine. It’s all natural. The feelings, all of it. They need to get their parent legs under them. Give them a week to get comfortable and another one to settle in to a routine.” She turned back to the stove. “Then you can go back home.”

He ate slowly, watching Ellen putter around the kitchen. She’d whipped Bobby’s kitchen into shape over the past months and looked to be reorganizing a cabinet at present. “Hey Ellen?”

“Yeah?” She swiveled in her crouched position, a pan in one hand and lid in the other.

“Bobby know you’re rearranging his kitchen?”

Her grin was thoroughly amused and rather cheeky. “He will when he goes to cook something.”

Sam laughed. “He’s gonna be pissed.”

Ellen put the lid and pan in the cabinet, then glanced over her shoulder at him. “He won’t be pissed. Never been before.” 

Interesting. He liked things the way he’d had them for years, yet let Ellen move things the way she wanted them? Sam wondered about that. Was Bobby developing feelings for Ellen? Or did he just not care if the kitchen was rearranged?

She got to her feet and closed the cabinet door. “Gwen, would you finish up the dishes for me?” Ellen came to the table. “Alright, Sam, let’s do this computer thing while I’m still halfway motivated.”

He almost laughed at Ellen’s tone. She’d discovered a hearty dislike for the job she’d taken on, despite being good at it. “I’ll take care of the passwords. Why don’t you show me this message board you set up?” He was reluctant to tell her she should have signed up for Twitter and Facebook and a few other sites since she was so proud of herself for coming up with the message board idea. He’d wait awhile before suggesting that.

When she’d opened the page and signed in, he studied it. It was simple and not flashy. Someone stumbling upon it wouldn’t think it anything strange, maybe even something for a role play group. The rules were at the top. Below it was a section for introductions and hints and nibbles of cases. At the bottom of the forum was a passworded section that was invitation only. He presumed that was where she’d post the cases up for grabs.

“You’re already up and running.”

“It was easier than I thought. Point and click for the most part.”

“You’ve also got people already.” Seventeen members and he clicked on the list, scrolling through it.

“I sent out the initial round of email invites. Once these get settled in, I’ll send out the next round and I’ll bet we’ll get more members as word spreads. Sophie and Mick signed up this morning and others like Mel and Shawn. The young set. Doubt we’ll get too many my age and up, though there is one spitfire calls herself ‘Calamity Granny’. I suspect she really is a granny by the way she writes. I’ve been trying to figure out if I know her, but I don’t think I do. Says her name is ‘Ronnie’.”

“I don’t know her unless it’s an alias.”

“No, she says it’s her real name. Bobby wonders if it might be Veronica Bennet coming out of retirement or something. He used to run into her whenever he’d work a cursed object way back when he first started hunting. She gave him a few pointers once. Cursed objects were sort of her specialty. Her and her husband. Bobby says he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the gal in years, thought maybe one of the objects got her.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“I did. No reply.”

“Maybe she’s trying to figure out if she knows you.”

“Could be. Anyway, whatever you and Dean said to Mick got him all fired up. He’s practically begging me to give him one of the Campbell unsolvables, so if you want to pick one out for him out of the lower drawer of the little filing cabinet in the corner you’d be doing me a favor.”

“You’ve got a filing cabinet here now?”

One brow shrugged. “I’ve got several cabinets. Whipping this place into shape. Two drawer one for the ones they’d labeled unsolvable in the past century and a couple four drawers for everything else. Interesting and weird stuff. Give him a real brain teaser, Sam. I put those in the very back.”

“Like Mick, do you?”

There was a hint of a smile on her lips. “You and Dean should look at those files. Not sayin’ you’d find something to work, but I think you’d realize it’s not just vamps, demons, and the common monster running around out there. There’s things you haven’t seen yet and things that probably went into hibernation that’ll be coming out of it soon. Strange world we live in.”

“You think we don’t know that, Ellen? We killed two _Gorgons_ months back. Gorgons aren’t strange?”

“Just sayin’. Broaden your horizons.”

A snort of laughter left him as he looked through the folders in the drawer. “I think we do that with every job. There seem to be a million classifications of every monster out there.”

“Apparently, there’s a million more if the info I’ve been putting in that database is right.”

He pondered that as he glanced through folders. Had they become complacent? Arrogant even in what they knew? They did seem to deal with the same sort of things over and over.

Yes, he decided. They’d fallen into a rut. They should learn from the archives, not just hand them over to Ellen and Bobby to catalogue. For months it had really been Ellen and Bobby working on them. Coming in a day here and there didn’t count as learning anything. They needed to learn again, get back to that basic thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean carefully set the baby carrier on the table. He and Jo both let out a relieved sigh. The drive home had been interesting. Jo had slept the first few minutes, then made him stop twice so she could make sure Jack was still breathing. “Home at last,” he whispered. Any louder and he was afraid he’d wake the baby.

“At last is right,” Jo replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drive _under_ the speed limit before.” She yawned. “I need a nap and a shower.”

“Go on up. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Okay.” However, she seemed reluctant to move, a hand touching the carrier, then the blanket. Her chin quivered before she wet her lips and looked up at him. “Dean, I’m scared. I mean, we got him home okay, but what now?”

He put his arms around her, tugging her close. It was nice to be able to do that again without her belly in the way. “I know and I’m right there with you. We can handle this though, right? We’re hunters. We kill monsters. We’ll be fine with a baby.” Tipping her chin up with a finger, he placed a quick kiss on her lips. “Go shower and sleep awhile. I’ll do the checklist if he wakes before you do.”

She nodded and went upstairs.

Dean sat in a chair, watching his son sleep. Fragile, small. He thought he could see Jo in his features if he stared long enough, so he stared, trying to see how the two of them had blended together in Jack. 

Half an hour later, Dean still hadn’t heard the shower running and glanced at the ceiling. He stood and lifted the carrier. “Let’s go check on mommy,” he told the still sleeping infant.

He found Jo on the bed, sprawled across it still dressed. She hadn’t even removed her shoes. Dean covered her with a blanket, eyed Jack, and sighed. “What _do_ we do now?”

Back downstairs, he carefully took Jack from the carrier and held him, enjoying the moment of just him and his newborn son. He suspected there’d be few peaceful moments like this in the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

This was a special day. Abigael smiled. The birth of Dean and Jo’s son had been eagerly anticipated. She smoothed her shirt and insisted they knock on the door and wait for Dean and Jo to let them in. She wanted this to go well. Her first meeting with her charge should be as perfect as she could make it.

It was Dean who let them in, the child in his arms. She could see that he was at ease with that already, slipping quickly into the role of father. They watched Dean with Jack a moment and then Castiel stepped forward.

“Dean, may we?” He held out his hands.

Dean’s hesitation and apprehension was apparent. He glanced down at the sleeping fragile bundle in his arms. “You know how to hold a baby, Cas?”

“I’ve been practicing in preparation, as has Abigael. I wished to be able to hold your child with confidence should the opportunity present itself.”

Castiel had indeed practiced, first with a doll and then with a real baby. He’d done all he could to become comfortable with babies.

“Make sure you support his head.” Dean laid the boy in Castiel’s arms. “Don’t stay all tense, you’ll make him tense. Babies can feel that in your arms, you know.”

“He’s a big child for having been born a month early,” Castiel observed. He was stiff for a moment, shoulders hunched and tense, but then he relaxed, the training kicking in.

“Still pretty small.” Dean adjusted the blanket.

“He’ll grow.” It took a minute longer for him to relax enough to hold the boy in one arm and touch his cheek. “Skin is soft. Children are a marvel.” Castiel glanced at Abigael, then looked at Dean. “May Abigael hold him now? She’s very good with babies.”

That seemed to reassure Dean and he nodded. “Yeah, why not?”

He handed the child to her. Abigael was gentle, as much as she could be and when she held him, she raised a finger and lightly stroked it across his forehead. “Hello, Jack. Welcome to the world.”

That touch, slight as it was, imparted to him the knowledge that when she was there, she would protect him as best she could from any harm that was not in his fate. He opened his eyes and looked up at her for a few seconds, then closed his eyes again, sighed, and returned to sleep.

She let her smile widen into a grin. “He’s a beautiful child, Dean. Jo is well?”

“As well as can be after nearly a day of labor and a night of nurses waking her every two hours to feed him whether he was awake and wanting it or not.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “We should take our leave of you. This is a special time for you. We won’t intrude.”

“You just got here, Cas.”

She handed the boy back to Dean. “He’s precious. The best of you both.” Though she wanted to stay, she knew they needed to go. 

Once outside and away from Dean’s hearing, Castiel stopped and looked at the house. “Are you ready?”

“As I can be. I’ve researched the creatures they’ve faced and am as ready as possible for whatever may come.”

“Then I’ll leave you. Report to me in three months. We’ll review your first quarter then.” He left without another word.

Abigael settled in to her duties.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of crying punched through Jo’s sleeping state, rousing her into wakefulness. She laid still a minute, listening and realizing she was at home and the crying was her baby. Grogginess encased her like an all enveloping cloak. Slowly, she climbed off the bed and went to take a shower. Standing beneath the water and letting it run down her body, she thought it hadn’t seemed possible for her body to ache this much from pushing a baby out of it. She supposed she should have realized it.

She left the bathroom, put on pajamas, and started down the stairs.

Here we go, she thought. Welcome to motherhood.

~~~~~~~~~~

 

**At 12:39 p.m.:**

Nose twitching at the faint odor of something utterly rank, Jo unstuck the diaper tabs and opened it. “Dear God! This smells worse than a rotting corpse!” Jo gagged at the smell, her eyes watering. “And why is it green?”

Dean coughed and put a hand over his mouth and nose. “More like the breath of hellhounds and I don’t think I want to know why it’s green.”

“Worse than that.” She went to the window, opened it and gulped in as much fresh air as she could. “Much worse.”

“A combination.”

“Agreed. We need a fan in here to suck the smell away. I’ll go get one.”

As she reached the stairs, Dean called out, “What, you’re leaving me to wipe this off him?”

“Think of it as a bonding moment,” she called back.

 

**At 2:47 p.m.:**

She thought she was getting the hang of this now. Jo carefully opened the diaper and was sliding it away when a stream of pee arced over onto the floor. “Oh, come on,” she moaned. “Really?” Her sigh was long and frustrated. There had to be a way to change a boy without getting the ‘pee response’ as soon as air hit him. It felt like this happened every time she tried to change him. Was it too soon for him to be doing it out of a warped sense of humor? “Dean? He just peed off the changing table again. Grab me the carpet cleaner and the paper towels?”

He was snickering as he came in the room.

“You think you can do better,” she snapped. “Change him while I clean this up.” She snatched the cleaner and paper towels away and got down on the floor.

“Who’s daddy’s boy,” Dean crooned to Jack, not putting a diaper on him like Jo wanted. “You are.”

She’d soaked up what she could and was spraying the cleaner when she felt a warm wetness on her neck. “Dean? Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.” Jo fixed an expectant stare on him.

He pursed his lips and gave a weak laugh. “He’s a natural talent at aiming?”

She sat up and slammed the cleaner bottle down. “That’s it. You clean this and get a diaper on him while I go take another shower.”

 

**At 3:10 p.m.:**

She finished drying off and dropped the towel to the floor.

“Mmm. You look good naked.” Dean appeared and leaned against their bedroom door.

Jo reached for a fresh pair of pajamas. “You _do_ remember Doc said six weeks, right?”

His lecherous expression faded slightly. “You’re sure that wasn’t just a suggestion?”

“Absolutely.”

“Damn.”

“I might be amenable to other sorts of recreation after I get some solid sleep though.”

He perked up. “You’re a good woman.”

 

**At 5:55 p.m.:**

Jo laid strips of tape across the seams of the garbage bags as Dean held them down.

When they’d finished, Dean sat back with a satisfied grin. “There. Next time he pees off the table, we’re ready for it.”

They’d covered the floor around the table with heavy-duty black garbage bags -- and the wall as well. It clashed with the light, bright décor, but at this point, Jo didn’t care as long as she didn’t have to try to get pee out of the carpet every single time she changed Jack. “The baby book didn’t mention this problem,” she mused.

 

**At 7:35 p.m.:**

Jo woke to the sound of a baby crying and stumbled sleepily into the bathroom, nose wrinkling at the gross smell in the room. It was worse than that diaper they’d had around lunchtime. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“Giving him a bath like they showed us at the hospital.” He was carefully holding their child in the bathroom sink.

She yawned. “ _Another_ bath? He’s had like three today already.” Though they weren’t baths as such, more like a warm washcloth stroked over his skin, being careful of the piece of cord in his bellybutton.

“Yeah, well if you have another idea how to get the crap off his head I’d love to hear it.”

“His head?” She stared at him, confused.

“We had a diaper explosion. Butt, back, head…. Still not sure how he got it that high up him.” He gestured to the pile of fabric on the counter. “I’ve seen some nasty things in my life, but that? Putrid. We should just burn the onesie.”

She bent, tucking her hair behind her ears and peering at it. “It’s completely covered in crap.”

“As was he. Amazing. He’s a prodigy.”

“Everyone has to be good at something,” she soothed.

 

**At 10:45 p.m.:**

Jo held Jack, rocking him in her arms. “Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep. Mommy’s tired, daddy’s grouchy….”

The infant remained wide awake, fussing just enough that she didn’t want to put him down.

 

**At 1:47 a.m.:**

Jo kept her eyes closed and pretended to be asleep as the baby monitor exploded in sound yet again.

Dean reached out a hand and jostled her. “Baby,” he murmured.

She tried to lie still. Would he buy it if she played dead?

He shook her harder. “Baby.”

After several more shakes, she shoved him back and hissed, “I got him last time. And the times before that.”

“Fine.” He sat up, shoved the covers off, and returned a few minutes later. “Sorry, Jo,” he yawned, “but I’m not the one with food in my boobs. You need to get this one.”

“I don’t have food in my boobs. Yet. Give him a bottle.”

“Thought you wanted to breastfeed?”

“I’m rethinking that strategy.”

“How do you expect your milk to come in if you won’t try? Didn’t they tell you to keep doing it?”

She snorted, but got up and went into Jack’s room.

 

**At 3:10 a.m.:**

“Oh, for crying out loud! I just changed him half an hour ago! How can such a tiny baby hold so much pee?” Jo was an expert at changing him now, removing the soiled diaper, swiping a wipe over him, and sliding a new diaper on. She put him back in his crib and automatically reached for the paper towels, kneeling before realizing she’d changed him without him peeing over the side of the table.

Her eyes went wide and she ran into their bedroom, jumping on the bed and shaking Dean. “Dean! Dean!”

He opened one eye. “What?”

“I changed him without him peeing on the plastic!”

He opened his other eye. “Jo, that’s great!” He patted her knee and closed his eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Crying began, loud in the monitor. Jo got under the covers and snuggled down. Who would have guessed in a million years that a proud moment for her would be changing her son without pee all over the place? “Your turn,” she sing-songed, basking in her victory. “I got him last time.”

Dean groaned, but got up and left their bedroom. Jo was serenaded to sleep by his off-key rendition of ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. Not a traditional lullaby, that was sure….

 

**At 6:30 a.m.:**

“I thought newborns were supposed to sleep.” Jo moaned, laying her head on the table. “I don’t think he’s slept since we got home.”

“I think he did.”

“When?” She reached for one of the bottles of root beer that hadn’t gotten put in the fridge the night before and opened it, taking a long drink.

“When we were sleeping. We put him to bed and he was quiet --”

“But was he sleeping? I don’t think he was. I think he was waiting for us to go to sleep so he could wake us up. Devious little baby. What about before then?”

“He was asleep when we left the hospital.”

“For how long?”

“Through most of your nap. Until Cas and Abigael showed up to see him. He woke up a little then and woke up right after they left.”

“You mean it’s _their_ fault he’s awake? Freakin’ angels.” At this point, she was willing to slip blame onto them for it.

 

**At 8:00 a.m.:**

“I don’t believe it. It’s like…dead baby as soon as the sunlight hit him. What is he, some sort of vampire-like child?” Jo picked up one of Jack’s hands and released it. It flopped against her like it was boneless. Jack’s little back rose and fell with breath and he sighed. His mouth stayed open. She looked up at Dean and shook her head in exasperation. “Dead baby.”

“Tired himself out.”

“And it only took the better part of a day. Great. We have a super baby, able to stay awake for days at a time.” She was exaggerating and knew it, but really did feel like Jack wasn’t sleeping long enough for it to be considered sleeping.

“Don’t forget his ability to cover himself in crap and pee just over the edge of the plastic onto the carpet no matter where we put the edge.”

Jo grabbed her second bottle of root beer and took a long swig. “Alright, let’s go try to put him down for awhile.”

It’d be a miracle if he remained asleep for more than a minute.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby stood with the cabinet doors all open, his arms crossed and a peeved expression on his face.

Sam went to the coffeepot, grabbed a mug, and poured a full cup. “What’s going on?” The night had passed with no screaming from Gwen, though she had thrashed around and woken twice gasping for breath.

His lips twisted in annoyance. “That woman does whatever she damn well pleases.”

“Who, Ellen?” Sam took a sip of the coffee.

“Who else? Not like Jo, Gwen, or Jodie have the nerve to rearrange my kitchen while I’m out working.”

“Ellen has --”

“Balls. She has balls.” He glanced at Sam and shrugged. “Well, she _does_. Figuratively speaking.”

He had to laugh a little because Bobby was totally right.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where she put my frying pan, would you? It’s supposed to be in the oven and isn’t.”

“Uh….” He gestured at one lower cabinet. “Try that one. She was putting some pans there the other day.”

“What, you sat and watched her?”

“No. She was working on it while Gwen and I were eating.”

He grumbled and was stirring eggs in the pan, having finally found it in the very back of the cabinet, when Ellen let herself in the house. “You couldn’t have put things in logical places, Ellen?”

“I put ‘em all back where they’re supposed to be.”

“I like my frying pan in the oven.”

“Well, I don’t and I’ve been cooking here more than you lately. Suck it up, old man.”

Sam chuckled, filled another mug with coffee, and left to wake Gwen. As he went up the stairs, he heard Ellen and Bobby begin to argue in friendly tones.

The covers were twisted around Gwen and she was already awake, head turned, gaze looking out the window at the clear sky. The sun was out and it was going to be a beautiful fall day.

“I brought you coffee.”

“I need it,” she replied, sitting and taking the mug from him. “I didn’t wake you or Bobby last night, did I?”

“No screaming.” He climbed on the bed with her, back against the headboard. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“You know I did,” she said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “You were right there talking me down.”

“You know…if they get too bad, we could use dream root. I could come in to the dream with you, help you through it.” He’d given this much thought. It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do, but if it was necessary, if he thought it’d save her somehow, he would.

She thought about that a moment, sipping the coffee. “You really want to walk through my head, Sam?”

“If it’ll help you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He drank coffee a minute, studying her. “When you’re in it, do you know you’re dreaming?”

“Sometimes and sometimes I don’t realize it was a dream until I’ve been sitting with the lights on awhile and you’re not covered in blood.”

He set his mug aside. “I’ve been thinking about Battle Creek and Mia, the things she said, and the particulars of your dream. The detail. Do you think that maybe you were there when she killed him?” It was a good bet she really had been there, sitting in a carrier or something while Mia disposed of Aaron.

Gwen laughed a little. “Sam, I would have been a baby. A newborn, like Jack. How would I remember that at less than a month old? Not to mention I don’t remember anything else. Earliest memory I have is Neal holding me while Patricia fussed over me wiping my face. I think I was probably about four at the time. I remember the cloth she used and how she made a little game of it. Do you remember anything from when _you_ were a baby?”

“No, but bear with me here. It’s not impossible. There are people who claim to remember being born.” He’d found hundreds of like stories of people remembering things from when they were babies and toddlers that most people didn’t remember. It wasn’t a large number of people, but they were out there.

“Yeah, and they’re whackos. Not all there.”

“Not necessarily. Some of the stories have been proven true and it’s honestly no stranger than other things we know as true. Mia said he claimed you were special, his special girl. Maybe you have the gift of remembering things from when you were really little. Maybe you can access those memories if you need to or the trauma of what Mia did in Battle Creek brought it to the surface.”

“And what good would it do me to recall things from then? I remember drinking formula from a bottle? Ooh, life changing stuff, that.” She drained her mug and put it on the nightstand.

He rolled his eyes. “Was the sarcasm necessary? It’d relieve you of your fears that you’re like Mia if it’s a memory.”

She laughed again and got up, pulling on her robe. “Nice try, Sam, but it’s a ridiculous theory. I’m gonna go with it being a dream and that my overactive imagination that’s fueled by years of hunts is goading it further and making it seem real.”

“I could be right,” he called after her as she headed towards the bathroom.

“You could be wrong,” she called back.

He wondered if there was any way to find out if he was right.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where’s my file?”

Dean went to the bedroom door, still in his towel. “What file?”

Jo was mumbling to herself and flipping through stacks of papers and folders, making the table a bigger mess than it already was. Her pajama top slid low on one shoulder and he reminded himself to do laundry later. She was down to her last pair of pajamas. The rest had been alternately soiled by spit-up and baby pee.

His single goal for the week had been to clean up the table and file away all the case materials. Ellen wanted them to document things. With the mess Jo was making, it’d take him longer than he’d anticipated.

“The flapper dress,” she said, like he should have known which one she meant. “I wanted to work on it.”

“You’ve established a chain of ownership, what’s left right now except to go get it, which you can’t do since Doc hasn’t cleared you to go back to work.”

“I could go get it if I wanted.” She sat in the office chair. “It’s missing. Someone stole it.”

Doubtful it was stolen. More likely Sam and Gwen had taken it so Jo wouldn’t get it into her head to run off on a hunt in her present, less than prepared condition. She was running on little sleep and high, ever-changing emotions. Doc had warned him she might have moments of extreme depression and to keep an eye on that.

“You can’t go after it, Jo. You’re still moving like everything hurts.” Which made him wince in sympathy.

“Everything _does_ hurt. I gave birth less than a week ago. You were there.” Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I’m so tired. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired before. I can’t…. I can’t think straight.”

He went to her and gently eased her against him. “Gwen and Sam took it. You know it had to be them.” He rubbed her back with a hand.

She leaned against him. “I wanted to be the one to get it. My first job back. I’ve been working on it for weeks. I deserve to be the one to get it.”

Unless something more pressing was brought to their attention, she might have to give up that dream, though he didn’t think they’d taken it to go out and retrieve the dress. “There’ll be other jobs. Always are, one kind or another. Think about this. Right now you’re so exhausted you might get yourself killed.”

She began to cry, big gulping sobs.

Dean waited. He’d had enough experience to know that her mood would change in a minute anyway.

He was right. In about a minute, Jo’s sniffles dried up and she was sitting back. “I’ll start something new, I guess.”

“There you go. Always something else out there.” He got dressed and joined her at the table while Jack slept. As he worked on tidying the table, Jo sipped on her root beer and wrote on a pad of paper. After awhile, Dean grew bored and looked at Jo, watching her work.

Even after all these months, he enjoyed just watching her. Familiarity hadn’t taken the mystery from her as he’d feared it would. He was always discovering something he hadn’t known about her.

“What,” she asked with a glance his way. “Did I miss some spit-up somewhere?”

“Do you know how beautiful you are to me, Jo?”

“I think I can guess.” She shifted a little in her chair, leaning back and arching her back in a stretch.

His attention lowered to her breasts and lingered even when she returned to her previous position. Was it his imagination, or were her breasts actually getting bigger _as he watched_? He gave that matter his full attention, putting his chin in one hand and air measuring with the other hand.

Yup. Bigger. Definitely getting bigger.

Suddenly, she frowned. Two wet spots appeared on her pajama top and she stared down at them. “That felt really weird,” she said, touching one spot.

“And you thought it’d never come in.”

She shot an annoyed look his way. As if on cue, Jack woke up and began to cry.

“Lunchtime already,” he asked, earning a flick of her fingers against his ear as she passed him.

“Jerk.”

He followed her downstairs, joining her on the couch, one arm around her shoulders. There was something peaceful about watching her breastfeed their child, the sight almost calming to him. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her gently.

The days began to fall into some sort of order. Sam and Gwen had made the right call by making themselves scarce. It gave him and Jo a chance to settle into taking care of Jack without distractions, to discover that, as small as he was, he had a personality.

He was impatient when hungry, a night owl that slept a good portion of the day, yet Dean could see a bit of himself in the boy and a lot of Jo. Jo claimed it was the other way around and Jack was pure Dean all the way. It didn’t matter who he was the most like. He was theirs.

~~~~~~~~~

Bobby’s couch was very comfortable. Gwen had made that observation many times and made it again to herself, stretching a little and looking up as Ellen appeared in the doorway.

“Sam, would you be a dear and go to the store for me,” Ellen asked, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

He looked up from the book he was reading. “Sure. I guess. What do you need?”

She flipped the towel over her shoulder and returned into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a list written on an envelope. She handed it to him. “You may have to go to a couple stores to find everything.”

Sam took it, looked at Bobby, who appeared to be dozing in a chair, the paper on his lap, then at Gwen. She shrugged and turned a page in one of her mother’s journals. Sam cleared his throat. “A couple stores? You know, if you want to get rid of me for some reason, Ellen, just say it. You don’t have to make up a fake errand.”

“Sam, I want to get rid of you for awhile, but the errand isn’t fake. I really do need all of that for my culinary masterpiece. You’d be saving me a trip to the store.”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me, Ellen?”

“Because I’ve a few things to say to Gwen that aren’t your business.” She patted his cheek with a hand. “Take your time, sweetie.”

He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. “Okay. Whatever. I’ll be back later.”

As soon as he was gone, Bobby opened his eyes. “Let me get this straight, make sure I’m understanding what Ellen told me earlier. You _had_ information that Castiel and Abigael gave you on your birth parents and you burned it? Girl, sometimes you got no more smarts than the boys and they can do some pretty dumb things.”

Gwen accepted the censure with only a mild twinge of embarrassment and stuck a bookmark in the journal before closing it. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do would have been to hand it over to Ellen for safe keeping. You’ve got a Trickster lusting after your ass _apparently_ because of something about you --”

“I know that! I dug in the fire pit to pull out the flash drive and it was gone. Not burned up, but gone. Someone took it. Maybe it was him. Maybe he had some magic mumbo-jumbo to get information from it after it was melted plastic and metal.”

“Go easy on her, Bobby,” Ellen said, bringing the coffeepot in and refilling their cups. “She’s had a rough week. Besides, all of us in this house have done stupid things in hindsight more than once.” She took the pot back into the kitchen.

“You called the angelic duo down about it?”

Gwen swung her legs over the side of the couch and sat up. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been a little busy making sure Jo got to the hospital and that the baby’s room is ready. Jo’s nesting urges only got the walls painted and the other furniture in place. Not to mention that I don’t need the angels fixing my mistakes! This was my mistake, my choice to begin with, and I’ll deal with it. Damn it, Bobby, I thought you’d understand that. I don’t see you crying to the angels to fix everything for you and frankly, I find it insulting that you want _me_ to cry to the angels. Like I can’t do it myself? Maybe it won’t be a quick fix, but I’ll get it done eventually. We figured out Mia without angelic assistance. I’ll bet we can figure out Aaron, too. The information is there somewhere. Abigael found it once. We can find it, too.”

“She had heavenly resources and since you’re not willing to tap those --”

“Maybe not.” Ellen rejoined them. “Castiel was teaching Abby to be human. If his goal was to make her comfortable with doing things the human way, would he really set her loose with the heavenly genealogy section? I’m willing to bet she did it the human way, only with that angelic quickness they have. What would take us maybe months likely only took her a day.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have a starting point.” Bobby pointed a finger at Gwen. “And don’t try to tell me that ‘all that glitters isn’t gold’ is some sort of starting point because it’s not. It’s a riddle. Once an angel, always one. She gave you nothing.”

Gwen drank her coffee, considering her next words and knowing they were a bad idea before she voiced them. “I could…ask the Trickster for help.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “You take a stupid pill this morning? You really want to put yourself in his debt knowing what he wants from you?”

“I don’t _want_ to do anything with him, but I don’t know that what he wants from me is what I think he wants. Besides, he knew Aaron --”

“What’d he say,” Bobby challenged.

“Started off with saying he wasn’t there to harm anyone.”

“Big words considering his mere presence causes chaos. You can’t do a deal with a Trickster any more than you can a demon.”

“Well, you _can_ deal with demons, it’s just not a bright idea.”

“Bingo.”

“He sent Abigael away, made his usual noises about wanting me and veered the conversation towards…” She licked her lips and glanced at the door, but Sam wasn’t back. “He talked about the archangel breeding program, tried to convince me I should make something with him and not ‘angel meat’ with Sam.”

Bobby and Ellen shared a long stare. Ellen sat down. “Gwen, you’re not able to have vessels. Sam said Castiel told him that. Made him happy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s looking like Castiel lied to him. Castiel as much admitted my genetic predisposition for it as truth right after Battle Creek. He never came out and said it, just strongly implied.”

Bobby swore under his breath.

“My thoughts exactly.” Gwen agreed with him. “Castiel said I was special to and for Sam. Vague as can get, yet still implying the one meaning.”

Ellen shook her head. “Castiel could’ve been vague with you by habit. He is an angel. They’re not known for their ability to get to the point.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said.

“Doesn’t necessarily mean he lied,” Ellen countered. “The Trickster could be lying. Dean did say he was Gabriel’s template, meaning Gabriel spent time with him, enough time that Gabriel could pass for him. They likely talked and maybe Gabriel told him about angels and the vessel lines. However, if it’s the truth, I bet he thinks he can use that genetic ability somehow, turn it to his favor.”

Gwen gripped the edges of the couch, shoulders hunching. “And if it’s not? What advantage would it give him to say that if it wasn’t true? Why say I’m able to if I can’t?”

“If he’s aware of Sam’s feelings on the subject, it’d be a big advantage. All he’d have to do is let it slip to Sam somehow that you could bear vessels and that’d be it. It’d put doubt in Sam’s mind. The boy is so set on not carrying on the vessel line that he’d destroy his own happiness to keep it from happening. Whether it’s true or not, it’d give him an edge over Sam, however brief, before Sam started coming to his senses and realizing he was probably being lied to. That creature is fully capable of manipulating both you and Sam to get you where he wants you and at present it looks like it’s having little Tricksters, though I’m not sold on that idea.” Ellen sighed. “I think we need to back up. Forget Aaron a minute. You need to tell us about Samuel trapping him and what happened there.”

What had happened? It had been a surprisingly easy hunt, that’s what had happened. Emotions had been high, Christian at his condescending worst, Mark going along with Christian like he always had, and Samuel being smug, haughty, arrogant, and over-protective in a way she’d never had to deal with before from a parental sort of figure. He’d taken it to a new level. Had he, even then, known about Mia and sought to keep her safe as a contingency plan? Or had it just been how he was?

She’d been frustrated, angry, and seriously considering walking away, doing her bit of guard duty with those thoughts swirling in her mind.

But then the Trickster had started in with the quips. He’d made Samuel look like a fool and, truth be told, had given Christian a little comeuppance as well. She’d laughed and not just a polite laugh hidden behind a hand and masked as a cough. Her laugh had been loud and long, one that got the men thoroughly pissed with her for nearly a week after the Trickster was gone.

“Look, I laughed at a couple of his jokes. It was nothing. He was funny and seeing Samuel look like a fool right then really made my day. My _week_. I despise being treated like a dumb, helpless woman. I laughed, he started calling me ‘darling’, and it turned out it was his avatar we’d trapped, not him.”

“I don’t think it was nothing. I think he saw you right then as someone who’d appreciate his subtleties.”

“Not a leap to get there,” Bobby commented. “Tricksters love their jokes, especially the deadly ones, and if you laughed…. Might be everything there is to it right there. May have been enough to put you in his sights.”

“Fine. So is he really after me or was he trying to teach me something by showing up the other day?”

“He showed no interest in Jo and the baby?” Ellen crossed her arms.

“None. Aside from the initial congratulations and gift, which really is a receiving blanket, he ignored her. He claimed he was there to pay his respects, that it was what Gabriel would have wanted, then as soon as Abigael was gone, he started in about me and him together. When I stabbed him, he got mad, admitted he’d read my journal, and said Aaron wasn’t what I thought he was. Acted like he’d known him. Called him a pain in his ass and said Aaron had managed to do something very few people ever have over the centuries.”

“It’s never a good thing when the monsters talk about family that way,” Ellen interjected. “Means a ton of bad in some way.”

“I realize that and he hated Aaron. He did. I doubt even he could act that much hate.”

“Begs the question as to what Aaron did to piss him off. Must have been something unexpected.” Ellen chewed on one thumbnail.

“There’s another option you’re not looking at.” Bobby sighed and tossed the paper to the floor.

“What’s that?” Gwen reached for her coffee.

“He’s a damn Trickster.” He said it like they’d ignored that fact and shook his head. “He’s yanking your chain on all of it just to sit back and watch you run around trying to figure out what he wants, why, and what may or may not have happened between him and Aaron. He’s playing a game for his own amusement. It’s one thing they do. Right now, my money is on that. The times you met him before, he never gave any indication he knew anything about your daddy. Why start now unless he knows it’ll get you riled up? You say he mentioned having read your diary? There you go. He’s trying to toy with you. You mention Aaron in it then?”

“A lot. I had to get all of that out somewhere. Sam suggested I write it down, like the dreams.”

“There’s your explanation. He read about him and decided to play with you about it.”

“What if he did know him, Bobby?”

“So what? Doesn’t mean a damn thing and not certain he’d even tell you the truth about him. Lotta hunters and helpers get around in the world. If Aaron was as good a researcher as Neal’s journals indicate, it’s not out of the question that they tangled once or ran across each other. Forget making some deal with the Trickster for information he probably doesn’t even have, Gwen. Go the other route.”

“He was really angry, furious. I still have the bruise on my neck from his fingers,” she pointed to her neck. “I think he knew him.”

“Big freakin’ deal.”

“It creeps me out that he’d been watching us. I mean --”

“Not for long,” Bobby snorted. “If he’d been there long, he would have had you so turned around you didn’t know if you were coming or going, _especially_ since he’s interested in you. Things would have been going wonky right and left. I don’t think he was at your house for longer than it took to flip through a few papers, read your diary, and figure out where you were. He wasn’t hanging around, he was looking for you. He hadn’t gotten to the hanging around part yet.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “I do.” He got up from the chair. “Are we done thinking of contacting him?”

Gwen nodded. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Good. He’s bad news any way you cut it.” He headed to the door, pausing beside Ellen. “Keep talking sense into her, will you? Smack her upside the head if you gotta.” The outside door slammed behind him as he left the house.

“What do you think Aaron did to him,” Ellen asked.

“Wish I knew. So….” She picked the journal back up, ran one thumb across the cover. “Where do I start, Ellen? The journals aren’t going to tell me anything about him. I’ve found the ones from the three years before I was born and so far, there’s little mention of him at all. I’m skimming what I can, but Patricia talks about other things.”

“I don’t know. You could try Neal’s journals.”

“Sam’s going through them.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t, too. Or, you can set it all aside and work on other things awhile. Aaron isn’t going anywhere, Gwen. That puzzle will be around.”

“In other words, get your ass working on current things, Gwen. It’ll all eventually come out.”

Ellen chuckled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Gwen dropped the diary in with the rest and shoved the box she’d found them in to one side, then turned on the computer and set to work finding a job to go on.


	7. Chapter 7

It was time to let reality back into their world and get back to work. At least, it was time for _Dean_ to get back to work. Jo still had a month before the doctor would clear her, which Dean was glad about. He wasn’t ready for that milestone. Getting Jack home and getting used to him had been a big enough one for the time being. He couldn’t very well deal with Jo back out in the field right now, too.

She wasn’t in agreement on that, already making noises about jobs and counting the days to when she assumed she could go back to work. Dean really hoped he could talk her into staying out of the field for six months. Maybe she’d fall in love with motherhood and want to stay safe? Doubtful, but he could hope. 

Her fixation at present was that flapper dress. She’d checked and double checked her findings, worrying that it’d be gone when she was able to go after it. Dean wasn’t particularly worried. It was in some rich woman’s collection and not even scheduled to be auctioned for another four months. They had time to retrieve it.

Jo looked down into the diaper bag on her lap, rooting through it. It was practically as big as his duffel bag. “Okay, we have diapers, extra diapers, wipes, extra binkies…. That binkie chain you found at the dollar place was genius. Three changes of clothes for him, burp cloths, extra blanket….” She caught her tongue between her teeth a second. “Hat that he’ll lose in seconds if we put it on him. Socks that he’ll do the same. Various ointments, baggies for used diapers, baggies for clothes, two extra shirts for me, an entire box of nursing pads, since I’m going through them like he is diapers. Damn root beer,” she mumbled the last part. “Am I forgetting anything?”

“Possibly. Maybe.” Dean yawned. He didn’t say anything about the root beer. Jo’s ‘if a little helped, more was better’ philosophy had been disastrous, though he wasn’t entirely certain her overactive milk glands _weren’t_ normal. Jack seemed to keep up with production easily enough. “I think we are, but I couldn’t tell you what. You want to take a bottle and a little formula just in case?”

“In case of what? I about explode whenever he cries now. It’s like a Pavlovian response. Somehow, I doubt he’s going to go hungry.”

“I don’t know, Jo. I haven’t been this sleep deprived for this many days in months.” 

“Hah,” she scoffed. “At least you’ve been getting more than two hours in a row. Our kid doesn’t sleep.”

She seemed to think he was getting a full night of sleep every night, when in truth he woke when she did and dozed until she came back to bed. Jo also appeared to have forgotten that he _was_ a little older than she was. His recovery time was slowing down. “Sure he does.” She was exaggerating, but he knew what she was trying to say. Their child did seem to sleep less than all the nurses had said he was supposed to.

“Prove it,” she ordered, brows raising in challenge.

“Easy,” he replied. “He’s sleeping right now.” He jerked a thumb at the backseat, glancing back as he did so with a smug grin. That grin slipped away. “And I know what we forgot.”

Jo’s stare was perplexed and she began to dig in the bag again, yawning wide. “What? We went through the list….”

“The baby, sweetheart,” he said in a gentle voice. “We forgot the freakin’ baby.”

She laughed, talking as she turned in the seat. “No we didn’t…. Crapsticks. We forgot the baby.” Her tongue pushed out her cheek for a few seconds and she frowned. “Where did we put him? God, Dean, I can’t remember where we had him last!”

“Do you remember carrying him out?”

“No. I had the bag and the bag of diapers.”

“I had the pack and play.”

“Is he on the table maybe? Or still upstairs in his crib?” She set the bag on the floor. “I am so not telling my mom about this.”

“Amen to that.” He took off his seatbelt. “Kind of glad Sam and Gwen aren’t here to see this. You stay here. I’ll go get him.”

The carrier was right on the table in the middle of it and Jack was wide awake and looking around. He wasn’t fussing and looked for all the world like he was fascinated by the thin air in front of him.

“Good boy,” Dean told him. “Keeping yourself busy. That’ll be a good skill to have later in life. Let’s go see Grandma Ellen and Grandpa Bobby now.” Bobby had told Dean he’d beat him within an inch of his life if he ever called him grandpa. So, of course, he was going to. Wasn’t like Bobby meant any of those threats.

At Bobby’s house, he got out the pack and play, grabbed the diaper bag and bag of diapers and followed Jo towards the door. She carried Jack. The door banged open, Ellen hurrying towards them. She grinned. 

Jo grinned back. “Mom --”

“There’s my grandbaby.” She took the carrier from Jo. “Grandma was getting worried about you sweetie,” she cooed, turning and going back into the house, crooning to Jack all the while.

“We’re fine, Ellen,” Dean called after her. “Good to see you, too.”

Jo took the diaper bag from him. “Didn’t expect _that_.” She wasn’t upset, the twist to her lips more bemused than anything else.

Upon entering the house, they found Ellen already had Jack from the carrier and was rocking him a little in her arms. She looked over at them. “I haven’t seen my grandbaby in two weeks. I’m a little happy to see him.”

Sam was at the desk, looking over at them, books all around him. A usual day at Bobby’s house, though the stacks appeared taller than normal. He raised a hand in greeting. “Hey guys. Weren’t you supposed to be here half an hour ago?”

Dean shrugged and began setting up the pack and play. “We forgot something.”

Sam was quiet a second, then said in a dry voice, “How could you tell?” 

“What about us,” Jo asked her mother as she removed her jacket and hung it up. “Aren’t you happy to see us?”

Ellen laughed a little and stepped over to Jo, giving her a one-armed hug. “You know I’m always happy to see you. What are you feeding this boy, Jo? He’s twice the size he was at birth.”

“Just the usual and he hasn’t grown that much.”

He quirked a brow at Sam. “Are you implying we brought too much stuff? I assure you, Sammy, we only brought the necessary things.”

“I’d hate to see what the load would be like with the unnecessary things.” He got up and came over, crouching down to help. “What’d you forget?”

“Never mind.” He finished putting the pieces together in a few minutes, then squinted at it and the leftover pieces. Something wasn’t in there right. The playpen part looked solid, as did the bassinet section that went over it, but with pieces missing it’d be a matter of time before it collapsed. He sighed.

“Crib thing?”

“It’s called a pack and play and no, that’s not what we forgot.” He took it apart, put it back together, and had one piece leftover this time. Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath, reopened his eyes, and forced himself to concentrate when his mind wanted to roam.

“Diapers?”

“No.”

“Wipes?”

“No.”

Ellen let out a snort of laughter. “They probably forgot the baby.”

Dean froze in the act of snapping the last piece in place and looked over at Jo, who crossed her arms.

“Mom? How could you possibly know that?”

Sam laughed and stood, returning to the desk. “You forgot the baby? Man, Dean.”

“I’m a mom, too, Jo,” Ellen said, changing Jack’s position in her arms so he was upright against her shoulder. “I once put you and the diaper bag on the ground beside the car, got in and sat there for ten minutes trying to remember where I’d put you, the bag, and my keys. Then there was the time Bill and I actually pulled onto the road from the driveway before realizing we’d left you in your carseat in the living room. It’s not unusual. I think most new parents have a moment like that. Lack of sleep does things, not to mention you’re not used to having to remember a carseat or carrier yet.”

It took awhile to get settled and when they had, Sam brought a stack of books from the desk to the couch and set them down, taking the top one off the stack and holding it out.

“What’s this?” Dean took the book Sam handed him. It was thick and a little musty smelling. His anticipation rose a little. Books like this usually meant something nasty on the loose. “Got a case?”

“No. Nothing concrete anyway.”

“Then why are you handing me a musty old book?”

“We’re going to broaden our horizons.”

Dean opened the book and shot a suspicious stare back at Sam. “Are you _trying_ to make me go to sleep?”

He chuckled and handed Jo a book as well. “Not intentionally.”

She held it up. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Just read.”

“But I’m not _looking_ for anything? No symptoms, no weird happenings….” 

“No, you’re not looking for anything.” 

She flipped open the book and read a sentence, then stared up at Sam like he was out of his mind. “Are you mental, Sam? How am I supposed to find something if I’m not looking for anything? This isn’t how I work. I find something questionable and suspicious and dive right in using whatever is in the article to pinpoint what could be out there.”

“No, I’m not mental and,” he returned to his chair, “Ellen made a good point the other day that we all keep dealing with the same things over and over. Maybe the reason for that is we aren’t versed in what else is out there, so we miss sightings of creatures we could be hunting down. I know it’s not how you work. It’s not how any of us have been working, but maybe we should take Ellen’s advice and educate ourselves a bit more.”

Jo snorted and tossed the book aside. “Nope. Not gonna do it today. I’m not sitting here reading a dry, boring book for shits and giggles. Give me something concrete to work on, Sam, and I’ll read ten of these, but just to read them? Not right now. Where’s Gwen at? What’s she doing? Why isn’t she down here?” 

Dean slid an amused glance at her. For someone who claimed she wanted to get back to work already, she didn’t seem too motivated to work towards that end.

Sam closed one book, then began to rearrange the others. “She mumbled something about a doctor appointment after she came in from her run this morning and left right after breakfast. Said she’d be back this afternoon.”

“What sort of doctor?”

He and shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Why not? What do you think it is? Doctor as in girl stuff that’s unfortunately necessary or doctor as in she needs a real medical opinion on something and not our guesses?”

“I couldn’t tell you because I don’t know. She didn’t elaborate, Jo.”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“I figured if she wanted to tell me she would.”

She blinked, “oh,” and looked over at Ellen. “Mom?”

“She was gone before I got here.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” Jo dropped the subject and laid on the couch beside Dean, her head against his leg. She closed her eyes, asleep within minutes. That was a good thing, in his opinion. Maybe she wouldn’t be grouchy when she woke up.

Dean looked down at the book and flipped to the first section. It was an alphabetical listing of various creatures. He skimmed the first page. “Making any progress on Gwen’s nightmares?”

“No.” He glanced up. “I’ve been reading about the creatures and spirits that can cause them and with all of them, the victim either feels pressure on the chest or has paralysis on waking. She’s had neither. I mean, she’s screamed on waking or gasped for breath like she’s having trouble breathing, but she hasn’t been paralyzed or complained of feeling pressure.”

“Unless the reports got the creatures confused and lumped them together. Not everyone has your freakish ability to find the tiniest differences between creatures or cares to look at them that closely.” 

“You see this difference, Dean?” Sam lifted his hand, then curled all but his middle finger into a fist.

“Ooh, touchy! Guess you really _are_ getting nowhere.” He flipped a few pages without reading them. “She still having the dreams while you’ve been here?”

“They’re a lot milder, not intense like she has at base.”

“Mmm.” Dean closed the book, dropped it to the floor and picked up the one Jo had set aside. “Hate to say it, Sammy, but it’s probably all in her mind and nothing we can take care of for her. She may just have to suffer through it.”

“I don’t want her to have to though.”

“I know.” He stretched out his hand and stroked Jo’s hair. “You might just have to suppress those white knight instincts.”

He sat back in his chair. “She was laughing at me the other day because I suggested she was having early memory recollection.”

“Early….” Dean licked his lips, considering that theory and tossing it aside as idiotic. “Sam, she would have been a couple weeks old or so when Aaron was killed. Highly unlikely she’d remember that.”

“She pointed that out, laid on some pretty thick sarcasm. I’ve looked into every possible supernatural reason that I can think of and I keep coming back to it not being…. Do you think she’s having prophetic visions?”

Dean stared at him. He was starting to grasp at straws rather than accept that it was probably all in Gwen’s head. An impulse Dean understood fairly well. “No.” He flipped a few more pages. “Why don’t you take her to see Chuck? Pump him for information.”

“There’s an idea…except he might not know either even if he’s still having visions, which we don’t know he is.”

He nodded. “True. Well, have you done all the creepy night experiments like watching her sleep with infrared and black light to see if you pick up anything?”

Sam looked like Dean had clubbed him over the head, gaze almost dazed and mouth opening. “No, I hadn’t.”

He grinned and wagged one index finger at him. “You’re slipping without me the past couple weeks, Sammy. Should’ve been the next thing you did.”

“You’re right.” He half laughed. “I’ve been so focused on researching it…. We’ll do that this week.” Sam laid out a quick plan for setting up cameras and lights when they got back to the house.

The matter settled, Dean made a valiant effort to study the book the way Sam thought he should. He did agree that knowing about more creatures would open up more cases because they’d recognize the signs.

But did Sam have to give them the driest books ever written? Not to mention that Ellen had wrested control over the thermostat from Bobby when she was here (pretty much every day now) and it was warmer in the house than usual. She wanted it warm when she was working on the database and in consequence, Dean began to feel sleepy.

He stretched his legs out and slouched down on the couch cushion. Beside him, Jo stretched and shifted position so she was on her back, legs slung over the arm of the couch. She remained asleep.

The words swam in front of his eyes and he slipped into sleep himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean and Gwen were probably right. Sam had come to that conclusion as days had passed and his studying on nightmares, creatures that caused them, and possible ghost or spirit influence got him nowhere. Gwen’s problem was normal. Extreme, but normal. Unless there was something out there he hadn’t run across yet or Dean was right and the types of creatures had been confused and lumped all together. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d discovered that. 

He decided to do the sleep experiments before considering taking her to see Chuck or trying to call Castiel down.

Feeling restless, Sam got up and went to look out the window. Gwen still wasn’t back. He wondered what her appointment had been for. She’d been out talking to Bobby while he worked the previous day. Sam suspected her appointment was with someone Bobby knew. Or maybe she’d had a normal, everyday appointment for a physical.

He snorted. Normal? Everyday? Funny how Jo and Gwen were working those things in when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to a doctor that still had a real license. Or a dentist. When had been the last time he’d gone to the dentist? He made sure to take care of himself physically so he _didn’t_ need either.

Behind him, he heard Ellen singing softly to Jack.

He turned. Happiness was like a fog about her body. “You look happy,” he told her.

“I am.” She adjusted the blanket around the infant, who was very awake and wide eyed, belying Dean and Jo’s claims that he slept all day and was awake all night. “Never thought I’d have grandkids, Sam. Seriously. Didn’t think it’d happen, but now that he’s here, I’m going to enjoy every single minute.” Ellen stepped over to him, voice lowering. “And if you ever have kids? I’ll treat ’em like my own grandkids.”

“I know you will.” She’d firmly adopted he and Dean both long ago.

“You want to hold him?”

He shook his head, “Later,” and started back into the next room. He had to stop and laugh however. Dean and Jo were both asleep on the couch. Dean was stretched out, a book on his lap, while Jo was curled over on her side. “Hey Ellen.”

She joined him at the doorway. “Ain’t they cute?” She patted Jack’s back. “Why don’t you carefully carry Jo upstairs and put her on one bed?”

“I don’t want to wake her.”

“Trust me. You won’t. She’s sacked out.”

Ellen was right. Jo didn’t wake.

It wasn’t long before Gwen was back, telling him that her appointment went well and she was as healthy as she could be.

“It was just a physical, Sam. Nothing big. I wanted to make sure I was still fit. Don’t you do that?” She hung her jacket up and headed for the stairs. He followed her.

“You get a yearly physical?” How did he not know this? After everything else they’d ever talked about, how had this topic slipped past him?

“Every other year for the past few years.” Going into the room they’d taken, she began to pack. “Aren’t you packed yet? I’m ready to go back to base, like right now.”

“But you’re okay?”

She sat on the bed and looked up at him. “I’m fine, Sam. Doctor said so. Blood work will be back in a few days, but he didn’t think there was anything wrong except a little stress. He said to reduce stress as much as possible for awhile, see what effect it has on the nightmares --”

“It’s _been_ having an effect.” At least he thought it was. Seemed to be working anyway. He’d been doing everything he could to relax her right before bed. “I can tell already that you’re sleeping better.”

“It is starting to help,” she acknowledged with a slow nod. “So why don’t we stop worrying about it? He said worry could feed the stress and keep it going in a cycle. I’m going to stop worrying and focus on our jobs.”

They returned to the house later that afternoon, following Jo and Dean inside and when they’d unpacked, they went upstairs to start working. Gwen set the files they’d taken to Bobby’s on the table. Dean, or Jo, had cleaned the room at the top of the stairs and cleared off the cork wall so it was ready for whatever new cases they could find.

Sam stepped towards Jack’s room and looked inside.

There were black plastic trash bags all over the walls and floor. While Sam thought he could guess the reason for them, he ventured a question. “Why is there plastic all over?”

Jo laid Jack in his crib. “Because. Every time we went to change him he peed everywhere.”

Sam stared at them. Were they serious? He exchanged a glance with Gwen as she joined him at the door. Gwen laughed and Sam suppressed a laugh. “So…why not try putting one of those cloths right there over him to catch it or something like that?”

The suggestion was greeted with blank stares from both Dean and Jo that slowly morphed into understanding. They must both be really sleep deprived, he decided. 

Jo’s cheeks flushed. “I hadn’t thought of that and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Dean blinked. “I _should_ have thought of that.”

“Now I feel stupid. Thanks, Sam.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel stupid, Jo. I don’t even know if it’ll work. It’s just a suggestion.”

Gwen slid her arm around his waist and leaned against him. “I thought you’d both been reading books.”

“I never got past the pregnancy ones,” Dean admitted.

Jo shrugged one shoulder. “I skimmed the other ones. Too much…reality.”

“Jo.”

“What? I got freaked out every time I tried to really read a chapter. Not to mention Dean kept walking in like he had radar that focused on that book. I don’t even remember where I put it now.”

“Under the couch,” all three of them replied together.

“Can we remove the trash bags,” Sam asked, gesturing around the room with a finger.

“Can _you_ change him without him peeing everywhere yet,” Jo challenged.

“I’ve never tried to change him.”

“Then no, we can’t remove the plastic.”

Two days passed. 

Sam bought a few supplies, then worked on setting up the cameras and lights the way he wanted in their room. He did a four corner set-up at the ceiling, then another camera in one corner that would focus solely on her.

She came to the doorway and leaned against it. “Taping me while I sleep. Sam, you naughty boy.” Her flirtatious smile was a ghost of what it had been at Bobby’s house as the nightmares had faded because…her nightmares were _returning_ and with a vengeance. 

He was determined to find the cause. It had to be supernatural. _Had_ to be. Something that hadn’t been able to fully reach her at Bobby’s. “I’m going to get this figured out. We’re stopping those nightmares. This week if I have any say in it. ” He checked the wires. “Dean, is that showing a picture yet?”

“Yeah,” came his reply.

“You think you can stop them?”

“I’m gonna damn well try.”

The rest of the day, Dean foraged through boxes and Jo snatched back the flapper dress file, squirreling it away somewhere in the house. Ellen had an explosion of activity on the message board and called to say she’d handed out three files, one to Mick, who’d reported in on the one he’d grabbed, triumphant from solving it and confident he could solve another one. Briefly, Sam wondered what Sophie thought of Mick taking old cases. 

Dean dragged a box out from under the table and ripped open the tape. “You finding anything promising on the job front, Gwen,” he asked, pulling out two bulky large manila envelopes and dropping them on the table.

“No.” Disgust was heavy in her voice. “There is absolutely no strange activity in the U.S. whatsoever. Even my civilian contacts have heard nothing.” She shut the lid on the laptop and sighed. “Guess it’s a downtime cycle for everything.”

“Or they’re gathering their strength and will hit us in twenty different directions.” Jo was hopefully cheerful at the prospect, undoing her blouse in preparation for nursing Jack.

Sam looked away until he saw her toss a light blanket over Jack and her chest.

Dean opened the first envelope. “There’s keys in here.” He dumped them out and pulled out a sheaf of papers, glancing through them. “Well, would you look at this.” He passed the papers to Sam. “Addresses.”

Sam took the papers and started to read through them. What he found past the list of addresses surprised him. “And a couple of deeds. Two of these properties they owned free and clear. Gwen, look at this. Did you know about these?”

“Does it look like I knew about those?” She was as surprised as they were, coming to him and leaning over his shoulder to look at the papers. “ _We_ own them now.”

“Which means if they’re up on taxes and don’t owe, we can clear them out and sell them,” Dean smirked. “Get some extra cash to run operations.”

“This has been like a treasure trove in some ways,” Gwen commented, picking up the keys and looking at them. “These all have numbers and letters marked on them. Is there a D4 on one of those pages?”

Sam flipped back to the first page. “Right here.” he pointed.

Each place would have to be investigated and Sam wondered what else they might find as they worked their way through the boxes they’d packed from the compound.

~~~~~~~~~~

The excitement of finding the keys stayed with Gwen even after she went back to glancing through some of the reference books they’d unearthed. One was in German and another in what she thought was Old English. She worked on reading the German one, a little sad to find her translation skills very rusty. She’d gotten too used to reading the reference books in English.

Dean and Sam matched keys to addresses, while Jo fed Jack. Gwen thought she was getting used to that by now, casting a glance towards them. Jo was fighting to keep a blanket over herself. Gwen wasn’t sure if it kept slipping because it wasn’t big enough for the purpose or because Jack kept grabbing it with one hand. Sam was studiously avoiding looking at Jo, while Dean kept stopping to look, as though the force of his gaze would make the blanket drop away.

Gwen watched Sam a moment.

She wasn’t sure if he believed her about her doctor visit, even though she’d told him the truth. She’d gone mostly to reassure herself that there wasn’t a physical cause for her dreams. That and it was time for her to go anyway.

She hoped Sam’s plan to tape her revealed something and that it was something they could fight. Back at Bobby’s house she’d started to feel better, but now? She was sliding back into little sleep and it wasn’t from Jack crying at all hours. It was the stupid dreams, the images more vicious than they’d been the first time around. It seemed that the savagery she saw on Mia’s part was almost exaggerated now, the blood a deeper color, the emotions and physical sensations she had while in the dream deepened, like a retaliation for her having left for two weeks.

Gwen got ready for bed at her usual time and put off actually going to bed. Jo had taken Jack to Ellen’s for the night, leaving Dean and Sam to do the experiment and watch over Gwen while she slept.

Sam handed her a mug. “Here. Chamomile tea. Ellen swears by it.”

“Thanks.” It was just the right temperature to drink and she sipped at it, watching Dean check the cameras.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Dean told her, turning in the chair and laying his arm over the back of it. “We’ll be right here.”

The house seemed too quiet without Jack’s cries and she drank down the last of the tea. “Okay. I’m ready.”

She kissed Sam goodnight and went into their room, leaving the door open a crack. The covers were cool, the mattress comfortable, and she tried to pretend they didn’t have five cameras on her.

It took awhile, but Gwen slipped into sleep and into her nightmares.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wasn’t hopeful that this experiment would work, but monitored the cameras Sam had asked him to watch. The temperature in the bedroom didn’t drop as Gwen slept, but suddenly, when she rolled onto her side facing away from them, there was…something. He leaned forward, glance turning to the camera focused solely on her.

“Dean, are you seeing this,” Sam whispered.

‘This’ was the thing that seemed to appear along Gwen’s back in slow degrees like a mist coalescing into a solid form. It became a dark, faintly human shape the length of her spine. Tentacle thin appendages grasped her body in what looked to be an almost loving sort of embrace. The malformed head between her shoulder blades turned, a skinny long tongue snaking out and over her neck in a graceful movement.

He turned to the cameras that were at her front and focused as closely as he could. The tongue, or whatever it was, had slid into one nostril. From the bedroom came a slight groan. Getting up, Dean stepped to the door and peered through the crack. He could see her back clearly in the glow of the light from the living room and there was nothing there. Nor was there any sound aside from Gwen’s occasional moan to indicate what it was really doing to her. It could be feeding on her somehow or just causing the dreams. Whatever it was doing, it wasn’t good.


	8. Chapter 8

What the freakin’ hell?

The words circled in Dean’s mind as he stared at Gwen’s back. There was nothing there, yet there most certainly was something there, like a vampire ghost attached to her. “Sam.” He gestured towards the room. “Go in there, see if you can touch it.”

He got up from his chair. “You’re the one standing in the doorway.”

“Yeah, but you’re her boyfriend. She’d expect you to be feeling her back.”

Sam joined him at the door, opening it further, voice low. “You think it understands us?”

“The monsters usually do.” He took Sam’s place at the monitors, watching the picture on one screen. He didn’t think the creature would strike at Sam since it hadn’t thus far. Sam approached the bed and carefully knelt, a hand stretching out. It was oddly fascinating to Dean that Sam’s hand went right through the creature. A million comparisons to other things ran through his mind.

“Nothing. I feel nothing here but her back.”

He racked his brain trying to come up with a creature that fit this and finally just shook his head. “Wake her up. Let’s show her the video and see what she makes of it.” As Gwen roused, the creature withdrew it’s tongue, released it’s grip on her, and faded from view entirely. “Son of a bitch, that’s freaky,” Dean whispered.

It took awhile to get her to wake up, as though she was stuck half in a dream state. Sam walked her around the living room, arms supporting her until she could move without stumbling. Her response to the video was one of horror, her eyes widening and chin trembling a moment before she swallowed hard and composed herself.

“Any ideas,” Dean asked gently. She was paler than usual and until he knew what that creature had been doing to her, he wasn’t going to push her too hard. Pushing might do damage they couldn’t undo.

Gwen shook her head. “None. Nothing I’ve read covered wizened humanoid creatures that have the consistency of vapor.”

“Let’s wake some people up,” Sam said, reaching for his phone.

Nearly four hours later, a call to Sophie brought a possible result, Sam sending the video to her and opening the laptop on the coffee table before carrying it to the kitchen table. She’d requested a face to face call. Twenty-five minutes later, Sam, Gwen, and Dean were confronted with a wide awake Sophie, sitting beside an older man.

She grinned at them. “This, guys, is my dad, Chris. Dad, meet Sam, Gwen, and Dean.”

He recalled she’d said something when he and Sam had met her and Mick about her dad having been a hunter once. Was he still?

After proper greetings had been exchanged, Chris cleared his throat, his gaze studying each of them, lingering a moment on Gwen. “I gotta know…what witch did you piss off to pick up an Alp?” He ran a hand through his shaggy dark blond hair. “Those things are _super_ rare these days.”

“What do you mean ‘witch’?” Sam put an arm around Gwen, keeping her close to his side. Her chair was snug against his, so close that Dean wondered why he hadn’t just had her sit on his lap.

Sophie got up and disappeared from the screen.

“An Alp isn’t a naturally occurring creature.” Chris raised his brows. “They’re created freaks, cooked up in a witch’s cauldron.” A hand appeared. He took a long drag off a cigarette and blew out the smoke in rings.

Dean tapped his fingertips on the table. “What exactly is it?”

Chris gestured with his hands as he spoke, cigarette between the index and middle finger of one hand, his expressions changing as excitement sparked in his eyes. He looked delighted to be sharing information with them. If only all older hunters were as friendly and generous with information “An Alp is a being created by a powerful witch that can be sent out to torment enemies. They’re rare because a lot of witches don’t seem to be powerful enough to make them anymore. They take a lot of will to control and bring horrible nightmares. It’s ingenious really. Everyone has nightmares, right? And it can be blamed on other things, like Moras and Må rts. The lore gets them all mixed up.” He took another drag from the cigarette, the ash line growing.

Sitting back, Dean spread his arms and smacked Sam on the arm. “What’d I say? Huh? Called it. Mixed up lore.”

Sam shot a quick, exasperated glance his way, like he thought Dean wasn’t taking this seriously enough. “How do they create them?” He was running a hand along Gwen’s arm, slowly chafing it. She had goose bumps.

“Snips and snails and puppy dog tails,” Dean suggested, only half joking.

Chris grinned. His hand extended off to the side and when he brought it back the cigarette was gone. “Right you are, Dean, in the sense that all Alps are created male. Head for the ladies every time and only take one victim at a time. They’re persistent little leeches, too.”

“That’d explain why the rest of us haven’t been affected,” Sam mused.

Now Chris snapped the fingers of both hands and pointed at them. “Bingo. They aren’t corporeal beings as such, only visible under certain light, as you obviously discovered. They nest during the day in cool, dark places, like basements or cellars. But at night….” He paused for effect. “They creep up onto their victim’s back, grab hold of her, and ride her down into her dreams, influencing as they go.”

Sam shifted his arm around Gwen, lowering his hand to her hip. “We had a night where it didn’t attack after it had been attacking. Why would it give her a pass?”

“You want my best guess?” At Sam, Dean, and Gwen’s nods, he shrugged. “Whatever he takes from the victim in the process, maybe he’d gotten enough during the last attack.” His attention went entirely to Gwen. “Was the last nightmare the worst one you’d had?”

A shadow seemed to cross her face before she slowly nodded. “It woke me up screaming. That was the first time I’d screamed and it was the most realistic to that date.”

Dean cleared his throat. Chris’s gaze returned to him. “What if the victim goes away for awhile? Takes a vacation. Will the Alp follow her?”

“No. Well…yes and no. I’ve seen a victim almost recover, yet still have a level of fear and anxiety, then go home and die after an attack. This leads me to believe two things. The first is that it keeps a tendril of itself in the victim somehow all the time, maybe like a tether so it can find her again if she doesn’t come back after a period of time. The second, that it’ll hibernate in the place it’s spent the most time with her until she returns to that place, then attack even more viciously.” He licked his lips. “I think leaving makes it mad. It retaliates the only way it can -- on the dreamscape.” His head bobbed in a few nods. “They’re interesting creatures really. Have a lot in common with Djinns and certain types of vampires and ghosts.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Gwen scooted closer to Sam. She really was practically on his lap now.

He was quiet a moment. Dean could see the decision on his face to tell them about his dance with the creatures. “About thirty years ago, I had a case that puzzled the hell out of me. Victim suffered nightmares, like Gwen here, and went downhill so fast neither she, nor her family, knew what hit her. It took two more victims before I got a lead, same process as the first victim and it was by fluke I discovered how to see it. My first Alp. Thing was nasty and old I found out later, like the pet of a centuries-old witch. Took down four more victims before I lost it and the witch. I kept an eye out after that.”

This, his entire career of studying the creatures, was personal. Dean could see it in the man’s eyes, in his posture, and hear it in his voice. Maybe it hadn’t been his catalyst into hunting, but it had egged him on deeper into it. “Sister,” he asked.

Chris stared at him, then nodded. “Close enough. Half-sister. We were close.”

“You catch the witch who created it?”

His eyes were suddenly flat and cold and he looked like a different man completely. “Vengeance was served.”

With a slow nod, Dean indicated he understood and Chris blinked, expression changing once more. He has a face like rubber, Dean thought. 

A pack of cigarettes appeared, Chris shaking one out and lighting it. “Interrogated a demon and a couple witches about them over the years. Did some trial and error when I did find one and put it all together. Took me damn near the whole thirty years to figure out how to kill them successfully.”

Dean whistled long and low. “We’re glad for your expertise.”

“Sophie’s friends are my friends.” He sat back in his chair, puffing away. “Now, like I said, they’re rare. The usual attack is through the nose or mouth, but in the rarest of cases, the attack is sexual, if you get my meaning, leaving the victim certain she’s suffered through repeated violent and sadistic rapes, barely escaping with her life every time. I came upon two cases of that and both committed suicide not six months after the Alp left them. Counseling didn’t do any good. The images were too ingrained in their minds. They couldn’t distinguish reality from the dream images. Drove them nuts.”

“Do they kill or just torment?” Sam was intent on the screen, soaking up all of the information Chris was giving them.

“Depends on the witch. They can create it for either I was told, make the nightmare process gradual or instantaneous with latch on. Gwen, Sophie said you’ve had it for a couple months?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Then it was probably created to drive a person mad.”

Which sounded to Dean like something Mia might have done for a giggle on a boring Saturday afternoon. He was beginning to suspect the fallout from having tangled with Mia, despite her death, would continue for awhile. He had no doubt in his mind that Mia had created the Alp sometime in her life. It easily could have latched on to Jo or Lisa instead of Gwen. She’d just been the unlucky one it had attached itself to.

“In that case, once the mind breaks, like in the case of the two sexual attacks, it’ll detach and move on to the next victim, which could be the nearest woman in proximity to the first. There another woman in the house?”

“My wife,” Dean said. Come hell or high water, they wouldn’t let that thing jump from Gwen to Jo. It’s existence ended with Gwen and it’s hours were firmly numbered. If he couldn’t kill it, Sam most definitely would. Dean crossed his arms on the table top. “What about when the witch who created it dies?” 

“Then it’d no longer have someone holding it’s leash. It could find it’s own victims, go wherever it wants.”

“Great,” Gwen muttered. “It picked me. Wonderful. Have I developed a target on my back for these things now?”

Her frustrated words were a stark reminder to Dean that Gwen _did_ have a target on her back, as did Jo and Jack, simply by association to him and Sam. The pain of that was swimming in Sam’s eyes and Dean knew exactly what Sam was feeling right now. The full truth of it however, and one he didn’t think Sam had worked through yet, was that Gwen had had a target on her back from before she’d even been born, a target placed there by her own mother. This was the life she’d grown up in and chosen to continue in. She’d always have a target. Even if they’d never met, she would’ve had a big red bull’s eye on her back.

Chris didn’t answer that question. He gaze slid back and forth, studying them. “There is some good news, guys. You _can_ kill it and it’s fairly easy to do.”

“Lay it on us,” Dean told him.

“Simple. Stab it with an iron knife. That’ll force it to appear under natural light and make it’s body real to touch instead of the mist stuff it is naturally. It’ll dig in, scream and all that, but you’ll be able to pry it off Gwen.” He gestured again with his hands, the tip of his lit cigarette like a red firefly flitting about the air. “Once she’s free of it, grab it’s tongue, extend it all the way out and coat it with salt. The tongue will shrivel like a big ass slug and once that’s done, an iron nail through the forehead will finish it off. It should turn to dust and you can sweep it up and throw it out in the trash.” His attention returned to Gwen. “Gwen, your initial reaction to it detaching will be panic. I’ve yet to see anyone not panic when they finally see what was attached to them, even if they were prepared ahead of time. Don’t count on being able to help Sam and Dean with this. You’ll go into shock pretty fast after the panic wears off, like major shock, so be prepared for that. You might have some lingering fear of sleeping and dreaming for a few days, but trust me, that’ll pass. You’ll be back to normal within a couple weeks.” His features relaxed into a comforting grin, a fatherly grin even. “From what Sophie tells me, I gather you’re in very good hands with those two young men beside you.”

Relief crossed Sam’s face. “Thank you, Chris.”

“You’re welcome. Just glad my trials and tribulations can be of good use.”

An arm slung about Chris’s shoulders, Sophie’s grinning face reappearing. “Is my dad awesome or what?”

“He’s a ton of awesome, Sophie, thank you.” Dean saluted her. “We owe you both.”

“Pish.” She waved a hand. “Not necessary. I should be owing you. You’re keeping Mick busy. He’s a bear when he’s not working and besides, he hates Alaska anyway.”

“How long are you going to be in the wilds?”

She snorted. “Wilds? I’m hardly in the wilds, Dean. I’m in Anchorage and I’ll be back in January. Sorting out my stepsister’s estate is turning out to be harder than we thought it’d be.”

When the call was concluded, Dean turned his head. “What’s say we go nail this bastard?”

Sam hugged Gwen to him. “You up to trying to sleep again?”

She embraced him in return. “I don’t know. Knowing…. I can’t get the video out of my head.”

Dean nodded. “I get that, but this’ll be the last time you have to go through it. We’ll get it off you, kill it, and then you can breathe easy.”

She pulled back from Sam. “It may take me awhile to fall asleep.”

“All we ask is you try.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen tossed and turned for over an hour before she finally drifted off. Sam wanted to rip the Alp apart with his bare hands. They waited, watching until the creature appeared on the screen, then they slowly crept into the bedroom. The plan was for Dean to wield the knife and Sam to extricate Gwen before grabbing the tongue and salting it.

Of course, as usual, their plan didn’t go…exactly according to schedule.

The stabbing part went perfectly. Dean knelt behind Gwen and Sam in front of her. Dean stabbed the creature.

It let out a keening cry and appeared. It was even uglier in full view. It’s skin was grey and mottled and had a damp appearance. It’s eyes were bulging and large while the hands grasping Gwen were tipped with lethal skinny claws.

Gwen gasped, eyes opening and body jerking. She grabbed at Sam. Her head turned and when she caught sight of the withered, wrinkled, and clawed hand grasping at her, she began to panic just like Chris had said she would. Sam reached for the hand on her shoulder, but it lashed at him, fighting to keep it’s place. The claws slashed at him, Dean, and Gwen, the fabric of Gwen’s pajama top parting, blood welling from a wound that ran diagonally on her back. She twisted and was free, scrambling from the bed, falling with a thump, and crawling to the wall. She put her back flush to it and drew her knees up, arms going around her legs.

The Alp growled, it’s lips parting and revealing a mouth that was devoid of teeth. Malevolent eyes glared at them. The tongue flicked out. Sam barely saw it move, but certainly felt the sting of it hitting him.

They lost their grip.

The sheets and comforter were shredded into strips as the Alp eluded them, almost prancing along the bed. Feathers flew as it ripped open Gwen’s feather pillow. 

This was easy?

Sam hated to see what Chris considered hard, hissing as talons that were unfortunately both corporeal and razor sharp sliced his forearm, drawing more blood. His anger grew from a slow burn to a hot rolling boil. A part of his mind timed how long it took between the mouth opening and the tongue whipping out. Three seconds. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…whip. He bared his teeth, only half aware that he’d begun growling at the creature in return.

“Grab it, Dean!”

Dean lunged, catching it from behind. There was a pop as he forced the Alp’s arms behind it’s back. 

It’s mouth opened and at three, Sam moved, grasping that tongue and yanking it so hard that he pulled the Alp and Dean both off the bed. The tongue was like a snake in his grasp and Sam put his foot on the Alp’s face. “Salt time, you bastard.”

Gwen made a loud gasping noise and pushed off from the wall, grabbing the salt container and pouring salt all along the tongue. The Alp screamed, thrashing as it’s tongue crumbled into black dust. It began to choke and Sam reached for the hammer and nail, pounding the nail into the thing’s forehead.

It exploded, showering not only them, but the entire room in nasty black dust. Dean coughed and sat up, wiping his hands on his jeans. His fingers left black trails on the fabric. Gwen laid down on the floor and curled up in a fetal position. Sam waved a hand in the air, coughing himself, and reached for Gwen, grasping her and dragging her onto his lap.

She wasn’t against him long, pushing away and getting to her feet within a minute, staggering towards the kitchen. Her pajama top nearly slid off and she yanked it back into place as she went into the kitchen. A cupboard door slammed, then another one, and Sam heard the clink of glasses.

He exchanged a long glance with Dean and stood, brushing black Alp dust from his clothes before moving into the living room. Dean was right behind him. Gwen reappeared, carrying three shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

“Who wants some,” she asked, setting the bottle down with a hard thump and then the glasses. Her voice was less than steady and her hands were shaking. She wrested off the cap to the bottle and poured one shot. More whiskey got on the table than in the glass.

“Sounds good to me,” Dean replied, pushing past Sam to join Gwen at the table and take the bottle from her before she managed to spill the total contents of the bottle all over the table. “Come on over here and join us, Sam.” He poured, sliding the third glass towards Sam. Dean’s forearms were as scratched and bleeding as Sam’s, though he didn’t have the burn-like marks from the Alp tongue lashing at him. Sam had born the brunt of those.

Gwen practically fell into one straight chair. She held up the shot glass, “success,” and downed the shot without waiting for them to clink glasses. The glass was slammed on the table, Gwen tapping it with a forefinger. “Again.” After that one, she looked up at Sam. “My plan is to get soused, shower and have you clean up my back quickly, and go to bed.” Her glance slid to the bedroom. “Obviously not in there.” Her attention returned to Dean, finger tapping the glass. “Pour, Winchester.”

Dean flicked a finger towards the stairs. “You two can take mine and Jo’s room tonight. I’ll stay down here.”

While Dean helped Gwen with the drinking part of her plan, Sam found clean clothes for both of them in the dryer and carried them to the bathroom, then set out everything he’d need to clean the wound on her back. He didn’t think it was more than a scratch and suspected he’d have to work fast to get her through the last part of her plan before she passed out. He returned to the living room.

Finally, Gwen closed her eyes a moment. She bowed her head. A long shudder worked through her and she reopened her eyes. “Okay, Sam. I’m ready.”

He helped her up and into the bathroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

Staying overnight at her mom’s house was a far different experience than it had ever been. For one thing, Jo had had to sleep on the couch. For another, Ellen had done most of the caring for Jack, leaving Jo to veg on the couch watching mindless tv and wonder how the video experiment was going back at the house. She didn’t call though, on the off chance she’d interrupt a crucial moment in the experiment.

Just after seven, Dean called to let her know she could go home. Jo took a shower and dressed, let her mother talk her into leaving Jack with her until dinnertime, and swung through Dean’s favorite burger place to grab an early lunch for all of them. She carried several big bags into the house and put them on the counter, then crossed the living room to Sam and Gwen’s bedroom door, noting the whiskey bottle and shot glasses on the table as she passed it.

Jo looked around the room, taking in the shredded sheets and comforter and the mess of black dust all over that Dean was trying to clean up. They were going to need to shampoo the carpet, wash the walls, maybe paint them, and a dozen other tasks in order to use the room again. “So….” She quirked a brow at him. “Exciting night?”

He looked over at her. “Where’s Jack?”

“Mom had a lunch date with Jodie. Decided to take him to the station to brag. She’ll bring him back about dinnertime. I came to help and it looks like you need it.”

“You should go up and sit with Gwen, see if you can’t pry Sam away from her side. He’s been with her since she drank herself to sleep. A little whiskey goes a long way.”

“What happened?” Jo studied him. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. There were shadows beneath his eyes and when he moved, he winced. Scratches crisscrossed his arms and he was still in the same clothes he’d been wearing when she’d left the day before.

“We’ll show you the video later.”

She went upstairs, fully intending on spelling Sam awhile, but paused in the bedroom doorway. They were both asleep. Sam had curled as much of his body as he could around Gwen as he slept. Jo smiled a little. Dean sometimes did the same thing with her, usually when he was having nightmares. She’d wake up and be unable to move until she could manage to wake him up.

Going to the bedside, she crouched down and touched Gwen’s shoulder. It looked like she was wearing one of Sam’s shirts. “Hey.”

Gwen opened her eyes. “You’re back.”

“A few minutes ago.”

“What time is it?” 

“About eleven. I hear you had a rough night.”

“Rough doesn’t begin to cover it.” She tried to move, an impossibility with the way Sam had her wrapped up. “Geez…Sam….let go.” Gwen shoved her elbow back against him until he groaned and moved onto his back. She sat up. Her hair was tangled. She blinked and winced, touching the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I think I have a hangover.”

“That rotgut whiskey Dean buys’ll do that. I’m surprised you’re not blind from it.”

“I think I should sleep some more.”

“Probably a good idea.”

She left Gwen to try to go back to sleep and closed the door behind her. Jo grabbed the vacuum and went to help Dean. He told her all about the night as they worked to restore cleanliness and order to Sam and Gwen’s room.

“You ever meet Sophie’s dad, Jo?”

“No.” She shook her head. “According to Sophie, he rarely leaves Alaska these days.”

“He knew all about Alps. Spent thirty years studying them. That’s determination.”

She shrugged. “It’s no more than what John did with Azazel.”

He paused in bagging up the ripped bedding. “You’re right. Only Chris is still alive to talk about it to other hunters. Wonder what else he knows about?”

“Pump him for info.” It made sense to Jo to do that and if Dean had found Sophie’s dad to be a friendly guy, then why not see what he knew? “We should utilize whatever resources we have, right?”

He tied the bag closed and came to her, pulling her tight into his arms and pressing his cheek against her hair. She turned her face into his neck. There was still a faint scent of his aftershave clinging to his skin from the day before. “Right. But right now I’m ready to drop.”

“I brought lunch.”

“You’re a good woman, Jo.”

Pulling away, she took his hand and led him out of the bedroom and to the table. They ate, cleaned up from lunch, and returned to cleaning the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were a flurry of activity. Painting and shampooing the carpet on Dean and Sam’s part and buying new sheets, pillows, and a comforter on Gwen and Jo’s. They also rearranged the furniture until it didn’t look like the same room. Only when all of that was done would Gwen go in the room to sleep.

Sam stretched out on the couch with one of Neal’s journals, determined to make some headway. At least Neal’s journal was more interesting than others. He’d found the threads of the story of that branch of the Campbell family, pieces written in such a way that he’d begun to feel like he knew Neal and, by extension, Patricia. He thought Gwen would be pleased once she started reading these. 

“Would you watch him for me while I shower, Sam?”

He looked up from Neal’s journal to find Jo standing over him, holding Jack and looking hopeful. “Huh?”

It was only the two of them in the house. Dean was checking out one of the properties on the list they’d found and Gwen and Ellen had gone to a different one. The only reason Jo hadn’t gone was because she’d taken Jack in early for a wellness check-up.

“Watch him? Give him a bottle, burp him, hold him so I can shower?”

“Didn’t you shower before you took him in?” He thought he remembered her showering earlier, but maybe he was wrong.

“I forgot,” she said, tone mildly defensive.

“Oh. But…I thought you were…well…you know…” He gestured at her chest. “Feeding him yourself.” Sam set the slim book aside and sat up.

“I’ve got a couple bottles made up. Dean likes to feed him sometimes, too.” She bit her lip and made pleading eyes at him. “Please? Pretty please?”

“Um….” He wasn’t sure he was ready to really hold Jack. He’d avoided it so far, which was amazing considering how Dean and Jo both liked to hand him to people. Even Bobby had been pressed to hold the boy. Actually, he’d known it was only a matter of time before Dean or Jo made this request. “I guess I can. You’ll be what?, ten minutes or so?”

“Sure,” she replied, though it sounded too bright and cheerful to be the truth. Jo tossed a cloth across his chest and leaned down, setting Jack in his arms. “I’ll get you the bottle.” She was back in seconds, handing him the bottle. Jo appeared to be overly excited about taking a shower, excitement sparking in her eyes. “Don’t forget to burp him when he’s done. He usually does two. If you don’t get a second one almost immediately, keep trying.” She practically ran up the stairs.

A few minutes later, the shower began to run.

Sam looked down at Jack and touched the nipple of the bottle to Jack’s mouth. “We can do this, right?”

The child stared back at him as he drank, like he was studying him. At one point a tiny hand raised and pressed to his jaw. The ounces were gone quickly and Sam carefully sat him up like he’d seen Dean do, massaging the baby’s back. That did nothing, so he gently lifted him to his shoulder like Jo did, patting. The first belch was hardly dainty and the second, right on the heels of the first, was even louder and longer. Jack’s eyes opened wide like it had surprised him and Sam slowly smiled. “You’re definitely Dean’s kid.”

Jack smacked his lips, laid his head down, sighed, and closed his eyes, going boneless in seconds.

Slowly, Sam decided that this was kind of nice. He let his cheek rest against Jack’s head, smelling the scent of baby shampoo and talcum powder. He relaxed, listening for the sound of the shower stopping. Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty-five. His arm was getting tired by the time Dean returned and came in the house. He’d been afraid to move for fear of waking Jack up. “Dean,” he called out. “A little help here?”

A pleased grin split Dean’s features as he stepped into the living room. “Sammy! Finally holding your nephew.”

“Yeah, well, my arm’s falling asleep. Jo asked me to give him a bottle while she took a shower and she never came back down. The shower is still running. You don’t think she fell asleep _in_ the shower, do you? It’s been over half an hour.”

“You could have laid him down.”

A valid point he supposed, as the pack and play was set up in one corner. “I’m not good at this stuff,” he protested as Dean lifted Jack from him and put him in the portable crib. The baby didn’t wake up though Dean hadn’t been exceptionally careful.

“Uh-huh. Who was holding the sleeping baby and had obviously given him his mid-afternoon snack?”

“I was. I did.”

“A little practice, you’ll be great at this.” He gestured at the stairs. “I’ll go see what’s keeping her.”

Sam got up and stretched, wondering if Dean had discovered anything of note at the property. He hoped there was something to work on because this calm they were experiencing, with no jobs to be found, was eerily like the calm right before a large storm hit.

~~~~~~~~~~

While Dean had known Jo could be devious, he hadn’t realized just how devious. Returning from checking out one of the closest properties on the list, he discovered Sam sitting on the couch holding Jack.

Finally, he thought. It’s about time.

Sam had been avoiding anything to do with the baby and doing pretty well at disappearing whenever they tried to force him to hold him for a minute or something like that. He didn’t want to get attached. Dean knew that. But he also knew that Sam had to accept this. He had to learn how to hold Jack and take care of him in case Dean or Jo weren’t around to do it.

He headed up the stairs and to the bathroom. The room was empty. Jo had left the water running when she’d gotten out of the shower. He turned it off. Smiling just a little, he went back down the hall and opened the door of their room. She looked up, startled. She was sitting with her back against the headboard of their bed, flipping through one magazine in a stack of them beside her.

“Dean. You’re back.”

Stepping in the room, he closed the door. “I am. The old, uh, shower running trick. Nice.”

She closed the magazine and set it aside, then crawled to the end of the bed and stood on her knees. He grasped her hips to steady her as she slid her arms around his neck. She kissed him in greeting. “He needed to bond with the baby awhile. Not like he’d actually come up here and look to see if I was really in the shower or not.”

“True.”

“You find anything?”

“More boxes and a bunch of junk. Took a few pictures, but nothing odd enough to do video. I’ve been thinking about the lists. They’re roughly organized into sections of the U.S.. I think they kept units and buildings in centralized locations rather than drag things back to their compound.”

“Makes sense.”

He squeezed her hips. “Gwen and Ellen not back yet?”

“No.” Jo drew back. “You think he bonded enough?”

“For now.”

It was late when Ellen dropped Gwen off, with a promise that they’d talk over lunch the next day about what they’d found.


	9. Chapter 9

The building was at the back of the property, behind a tangle of bushes and brambles. Ellen and Gwen approached with caution, sweeping their lights across the structure. The gloomy day had become more so when they’d pulled into the long driveway, clouds hanging low, the undersides dark with rain. The building was the size of a two-car garage and looked to have an upper level. 

Ellen and Gwen made their way around it, moving slowly and from opposite sides. They’d exchange notes back at the front of the building. Ellen’s boots crunched on sticks and leaves. Brambles caught at the fabric of her clothes.

It felt good to be back out doing something, even if it was just checking out a property the Campbell family had on a list. She was rethinking her decision to retire from the field. Retirement just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and she couldn’t say no one had warned her either. Bobby had tried to tell her, as had Rufus, who’d come fully out of retirement now and was busy making trouble all over the country. Computer work bored her to tears and she was playing up her former troubles with the temperamental desktop at Bobby’s just to have Sam or Gwen come out and help her. It was pure manipulation on her part and they all knew it. The two didn’t mind.

Bobby had been making noises recently about how it had been nice to have a woman’s touch when they’d gone with Rufus after one of the cursed objects and he wouldn’t mind having that touch more often. Sometimes she wondered if he was flirting with her when he said things like that. Ellen wasn’t entirely certain she’d recognize Bobby flirting with her if he did. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine together. She’d go to his house, spending more of her time there than at her own, cook meals and stay late working or talking. She liked their routine. It felt…nice. Comfortable was the right word.

She returned her attention to the matter at hand. There was one entrance and three windows, two on the lower level and one on the upper. Up close, the paint was worn and peeling in places. Around the building were symbols, painted in a light paint very close to the white of the building. A few of the symbols she wasn’t familiar with, but one she noticed gave her a jolt of shock. She shook her head a little and wondered what else she hadn’t known about her husband.

Oh, Bill, what were you doing running with the Campbells? And how come you never mentioned them?

Or had he? The name would have meant nothing to her back then, just another name among many he’d tossed out. It suddenly occurred to her that she might not have known Bill Harvelle as well as she’d thought she had, though she did remember him once telling her that he still had some secrets from his past and would tell them later. A few he’d said he had to work himself up to the telling. 

Later had never come. All that had come was an empty grave, his body salted and burned in California without her or Jo ever seeing the sort of mess the hellspawn had carved him into. Probably a mercy to them, but at the time, it hadn’t felt like one. It had felt like John was hiding something from them.

She swallowed hard and shoved those reminiscences back down. It was still painful after all these years to let them surface.

Ellen took pictures while Gwen took video, carefully documenting. That had been Sam’s suggestion and one Dean had agreed would be useful later. The more documentation the better. Change had hit the Winchester-Harvelle-Campbell family like a tide, sweeping them all along whether they wanted to go or not. It was unavoidable if they wanted to continue hunting, and they did. They were implementing new strategies, getting used to them in controlled (fairly anyway) environments before taking them to the field.

They checked for traps, slowly opened the door and stepped inside, shining lights all around. The room was lined with shelves, with free standing units in rows in the center. All were packed with boxes that were neatly labeled in Campbell code. It didn’t even take Ellen a minute anymore to figure out what each said. To one side of the door was a clipboard and Ellen took it down from the hook it was on, glancing through the pages. It was all junk stored here, mementos going back for many long years, the sort of things people stored when they couldn’t bear to get rid of objects. 

She let out a disappointed sigh. This wasn’t the sort of storage unit they’d be interested in.

“Boring junk,” Gwen announced, rifling through one of the nearest boxes. “I don’t get it. Why the symbols outside if there’s nothing here worth protecting?”

“An attempt to keep privacy? To keep mementos from falling into enemy hands?”

Gwen dragged one box over and flipped the lid off it completely. She held up ratty t-shirts and what looked like a tutu. “Yeah, the enemy can do so much with dirty, old clothes.” She began to spread them out, her hands faltering. There were things she’d missed in that initial appraisal. One shirt was ripped in a claw pattern, a dark rust colored stain along the edges of the rips. Another had a greenish stiff stain down the front. The tutu, for it was that, had rust colored stains on half of it.

“Take the rest out,” Ellen told her and crouched down beside her, finding the box number on the list. The list told her it was ‘Ellis, Margaret, Rose.’ At the bottom of the box was a doll, the same sort that Jo had once painted a symbol on and thrown into the trash, allowing Ellen to fully place the time period. The tutu was for a girl about the age Jo had been. The doll looked like it had been hastily cleaned, but there were still traces of flaking reddish something (blood, it had to be blood) on the body.

“These aren’t just boxes of junk,” Gwen said, sitting back on her heels.

“No, they aren’t,” Ellen agreed. “They’re cleanups.” Items taken in an attempt to cleanup involvement in a scene. Maybe the bodies had been taken, salted, and burned like John had done with Bill. But why keep the clothes? Why not burn them too?

To remember past mistakes, her mind drawled. They kept them so that they wouldn’t forget the mistakes that had cost them everything.

“Campbell?”

“Maybe.” Which got her thinking. Looking at the items that had been in the box and having an idea why they had been kept…were there maybe items from Aaron’s death in there somewhere? She scanned the list, found two boxes she thought could be possibilities. “Check a few more of these,” she told Gwen as she got up and moved to the back of the building, following the numbers.

She found the first box and opened it. Inside were papers and she looked at them. She recognized the handwriting. Even after years had passed, she recognized it.

Bill Harvelle.

Ellen’s heart beat a bit faster in her chest and she took a closer look at the list on the clipboard, then the papers in the box. “Oh God,” she put a hand over her mouth.

Gwen came over and crouched down beside her. “Ellen?”

“Get these in the car. Please. These two.” She indicated the two boxes with a hand that had begun to shake.

“Why? What’s in them?”

“This isn’t a Campbell property, Gwen.” She shook her head and gave a shrug. “It’s Harvelle.”

He’d given them the key, it was there in his papers. He’d sent the key to them to take care of the place because he was settling down. He hadn’t wanted his new, young wife to know everything yet, though he planned to tell all eventually. He’d trusted them to keep this secret and they had, to all their graves until now.

Ellen blinked back tears and she almost suggested they pull over and burn the boxes in the nearest field. But she didn’t. Her curiosity was now high. Why had Bill wanted to keep the property a secret? What was in it? Or was it just the fact of what the things there were?

Upon returning, Ellen went home to think. She stayed awake most of the night, her thoughts turning in furious circles. Bill had known the Campbell family. How well had he known them? Were they one of the secrets he’d kept, or had the name just not stuck in her head? He had occasionally mentioned other hunters and seemed to have known a lot that had come through the Roadhouse. Just how connected had he been and why hadn’t she considered it before?

Gwen pulled up the pictures on the laptop for her and angled it so Sam, Dean, and Jo could see them. “Here.”

“Looks like what I found.” Dean glanced at Ellen. “Same symbols.”

Her stomach churned. Both properties were in Nebraska, a close drive to the home she and Bill had shared. “You know the symbols?”

Dean frowned, studying the screen. He had Jack in his arms, feeding him a bottle. “Some. Not all.” The boy was noisy, smacking his lips around the nipple of the bottle and making contented murmurs.

Sam squinted. “They’re obscure. Not Enochian, but…obscure, like middle ages stuff. Dean and I’ve come across a few here and there over the years.” He pointed. “This one I recognize from one of the books we took from the Campbell compound. Supposed to repel ‘creatures of mischief’.”

Jo snorted. “A blanket symbol. They’re all creatures of mischief.”

“Why are you asking Ellen?” Dean set the bottle down and sat back in his chair, adjusting Jack so he could burp him. He had it down pat now, holding a cloth so that if the boy spit up the cloth would catch it.

“You’re sure it was in one of the Campbell books, Sam?” Gwen crossed her arms. “You’re positive?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Want me to get the book out?” He waved a hand at one set of bookshelves. “It’s right over there in that case.”

“No,” Ellen told him, “we just wanted to make sure you’re certain where you found it.”

“Why, mom?”

“Because Bill Harvelle knew them.” She clicked on one picture to bring it up. “This is his signature, the symbol there. He tended to mark things, told me once it made it easy to know if he’d already been there once. Said that as much as he’d traveled around, places blurred together.” Ellen shrugged. “He knew them. He gave them the key to the property. It’s not a Campbell property, it’s a Harvelle property. I think some of that in there is your heritage, Jo.”

The news stunned Dean, Sam, and Jo. They all looked at each other and she could see the wondering in their eyes. None of them knew much about Bill Harvelle and it appeared to Ellen that she hadn’t know much.

“Did Neal and Patricia ever come in the Roadhouse,” Sam asked in a careful tone.

“Might’ve,” Ellen answered. “There were times I wasn’t working and Bill was. Could’ve come in then. Hell, they could’ve been some of the mourners came through after he died and I wouldn’t have known it. Didn’t pay too much attention right then to faces. They could have paid their respects and been just two more faces in the crowd.”

“Small world,” Dean remarked. “Never would have guessed he knew them.”

“I never _did_ guess. Never occurred to me though it should have. He was from a hunting family. Stands to reason the families ran into each other over the decades. Both old in the profession. There was probably a professional courtesy in there somewhere. And it is too small,” she agreed. “It really is. Hunters knowing other hunters’ business. Word traveling. Chain reaction in the hunting community. But in some ways it’s too big. Still a lot of unconnected hunters out there, like you boys were when we met, thinking there are only a handful running around, having no idea there’s a network. Maybe there’s someone out there still alive who knows the story of Bill and them.”

The topic floundered and Ellen understood why. It was painful for her to consider right now and they knew that. They weren’t going to press it. She stayed the day with them, enjoying spending time with all of them. They discussed the scarcity of jobs of late and as they did, her attention gradually rested on Jo and Dean. Ellen let loose a small internal sigh as she saw what was happening between them.

Her daughter, normally astute to Dean’s moods, was ignoring the warning signs that he wasn’t going to deal well with Jo’s return to the field. She’d put blinders on in her sprint towards that goal, so focused on it that she completely missed the turmoil in Dean.

Oh Jo honey, she thought. Give him a big break when he screws up, because you’re both gonna make it a doozy.

Ellen thought about interfering and sitting them both down and decided it wasn’t her place to do that. It was between Dean and Jo and they had to make those mistakes to learn and grow from them. She hoped they’d recover from what Ellen thought was coming.

When she began to yawn, she took her leave of them, returning to her own house and deciding she’d make sense of whatever Bill’s connection to the Campbell clan had been in the next few days.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo let herself into Ellen’s house and called out, “Mom?”

“In the kitchen,” she called back. Ellen had a stack of picture albums on the table and one open before her, slowly flipping pages.

Jo shifted Jack a little and leaned over to look at the pictures. “What’s going on?”

She sighed. “I got to thinking about your father and his life before we got married.”

A consequence of the property she and Gwen had gone to. Ellen had been pensive and moody for days now about it. Jo had been reluctant to bring up the subject with her.

“You know, I’ve had these albums for years and only looked at them a handful of times, mostly back before you came along.” She turned a page. “I never asked many questions and he was never too inclined to elaborate unless I pushed him, but he could have known them Jo. Really known them well. I mean, he got around before we met, the handsome drifter, mysterious stranger. He was old when he was still very young. Sometimes Dean reminds me of him. Anyway,” she turned another page, “I decided that since I had the Campbell pages out, I might as well drag out the Harvelle ones and see if I could find connections anywhere. Picture proof of knowing. Has to be some. As picture happy as Gwen says Neal was? And as picture happy as Bill was?”

“Could be nothing.”

“Joanna Beth, it’s _something_. They wouldn’t have had that key and address if it was nothing. He knew them, they knew him, and I’m betting it was more than a casual acquaintance. You don’t give a key to a place like that out to people you don’t trust to keep it safe. He knew them and trusted at least one of them. It might even have been Neal. His age is right.”

“Okay.” Jo nodded. Her mother was upset, focused on finding proof now that she had a connection in one way. “What can I do to help?” Jack turned his head, pressing against her breast and she glanced down as he began to fuss.

“First, you feed the boy, then start pulling pictures of people out of these, tacking them on the right side of the wall over there.” She gestured with a hand. “I’m hoping to find common faces.”

“I just fed him before I left,” she protested. The past few days he’d been wanting to eat every couple hours and he was growing through clothes as fast as she could wash them.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of breastfeeding.”

Was that a smirk she just saw? It was, wasn’t it? “He never stops eating. He’s always hungry.”

“He’s a growing boy and Dean’s son. You’d expected otherwise?”

She sat in a chair and when Jack had latched on, she sighed. “I didn’t expect to have him attached to my boobs twenty-four-seven.”

“It’s a fact of motherhood.”

“It’s something of a damper on public activities. I’m really rethinking the whole bottle feeding formula thing.”

“You could go half and half. Breast at day, bottle at night.” She set a couple pictures to one side. “When’s your appointment?”

“Four days.” She couldn’t wait, either. Four days until she was pronounced fit to return to work. Freedom. She’d missed being out on jobs; missed the process of an actual hunt. Jo was so ready to be out there in the field that she could taste it.

Hours later, while Ellen laid down with a cool cloth over her eyes in an attempt to quell a raging migraine, Jo found the connection her mother was desperate to find. It was a picture of three men, all three muddy and disheveled, standing behind a table holding beer bottles and grinning. On the table was a box with symbols on it that she couldn‘t quite make out. They had the look of a job well done and they were glad for it. Bill Harvelle on one end, Neal Campbell on the other and the man in the middle? Though Jo had only seen the picture of Aaron Carys a couple times, she recognized him only because the grin on the man’s face was Gwen’s.

Bill, Neal, and Aaron. Obviously friends.

She sat back, contemplating the picture. It brought a new layer to their reality and definitely made Jo’s father seem more complex to her. A man of mystery. He’d been friends with Gwen’s birth father and the one who’d raised her. Aaron had died first, then Bill, and finally Neal many years later. Had Aaron been the common glue between them that had held them all together? It was a curiosity to her.

The picture seemed to calm Ellen. “I knew there was a connection somewhere.”

“So he knew him. What difference does it make?”

“It makes a big difference, Jo. All those properties? Might not all be Campbell. Might be Carys too, or whatever his real name was. Might be all three and the Campbell family were just the caretakers for the other two on them. It adds a sense of real history, something tangible that we can find. We _are_ finding it, in slow degrees. If it’s Carys too, we could open up a box and there’s everything Gwen ever wanted to know.”

“Mom --”

“Generations grow apart, Jo. God, you know that. Look at me and John. Your dad’s death stopped him coming round. Who knows what might’ve happened if your dad had lived and John never stopped coming by the Roadhouse? Maybe you would have ended up playing with Sam as a kid. Maybe we could’ve had them as family a lot sooner. One thing can change a generation.” She tapped the picture with a finger. “There was something there, you can see it in the way they’re standing.” 

She just didn’t see how it made a difference in today’s world. The past was the past. It was done with. What did it matter who had originally had the properties? They’d all ended up with one family in the end. “But it’s all past events.”

“Don’t you want to know more about your dad? Aren’t you curious where this could lead?”

“Of course I am, but mom, anything that happened was a long time ago and hasn’t had any effect on us today. It makes no difference if he knew them except in maybe giving Gwen some sort of real closure on her dad and I don’t see how it can because all you have is a hypothetical what if situation. We don’t know there are Carys properties. How would we even identify them? The only ones we can identify with any certainty were dad’s.”

“Am I being silly wanting to follow this backwards, Jo?”

“No. I don’t think so. But it’s not our focus. Dad knew both of them. We’ve established that. The picture indicates it.” She shrugged. “He knew a lot of people. You’ve said that before. It was like he knew everyone who came through the door of the Roadhouse. I could say the same about you. It’s how it always felt to me growing up. Dad knew them. Great. Let’s file it away and go forward. Maybe we’ll find something that’ll indicate there are Carys properties, but at present all we know is there are Campbell ones and two Harvelle ones on the list. We can’t go on assumption. It’s dangerous to do that. You know that. You taught me that.”

Slowly Ellen nodded. “Help me put the pictures away?”

She kept the picture out of the three men to give to Gwen and tucked it away in the diaper bag to take home.

Four days later, Jo left her appointment with a giddy sensation running rampant inside her. It was time. She returned home and dropped her bag on the table, announcing with a grin, “ _I_ can go back to work. Doc says.”

There was silence. Sam looked at Gwen, Gwen looked at Ellen, and they all looked at Dean, who finished with one clipping before looking up at Jo.

“Hell you can,” he replied. “You’re still breastfeeding.”

“It’s what the pump’s for.” He knew that. He’d watched her use it enough. “Besides, I’m ready to put him on formula.”

“You planning on discussing that with me?”

She spread her arms, shrugged, and put her hands on her hips. “You got a problem with it?”

Sam sucked in a noisy breath and started closing folders. “Well, I’ll be, uh…”

Ellen shoved back her chair and stood. “Errands. I have errands.”

Gwen glanced at her watch. “Look at the time! Think I’ll --”

“Where do you three think you’re going,” Dean barked.

Ellen put her hands flat on the table and leaned down so she was eye to eye with him. “This should be a private discussion between you,” she snapped back.

His gaze flicked to her for a second, then returned to Jo. “Fine. We’ll take it upstairs.” Standing, he took Jo’s arm in a grip that was almost tight enough to pinch, drawing her with him to the stairs and urging her to go up ahead of him. 

She jerked her arm free. “What bug crawled up _your_ butt and died?” 

He slammed the door to the stairway behind them. At the top of the stairs he asked, “Formula?”

“What’s your problem with putting him on formula? You were saying just two days ago that you wanted to help out more with feeding him. Now you can.” She didn’t think it was really about the formula though. Not this extreme reaction.

“A little discussion would be nice before you make a big decision like that.”

She quirked a brow. “Okay. I don’t have a problem with it, you don’t have a problem with it. There. Discussed and decided. He goes on formula.” She shook her head. “I’m going back to work. Having him on formula will help.”

“Hell you are.”

“Hell I’m not.” She crossed her arms. “You have two choices here, Dean. You can either help me pick out a hunt or get out of my way, because I’m going back into the field whether you like it or not.”

He also crossed his arms. “Not.”

This was the issue right here. Her return to the field. Jo softened her tone a fraction, trying to diffuse this before it got too heated. “It’s my job too, sweetheart.”

“How are we going to take care of Jack on the road, hmm?”

“Don’t need to. We have enough people for two teams and about seven options for going out, excluding all combinations that would have you and me out together.” Raising her hands as fists, she raised a finger to count each option off. “Me and Gwen, me and Sam, you and Gwen, you and Sam, or Sam and Gwen. Or…me, Gwen, and Sam, or you, Gwen, and Sam. Mom will take Jack for short weekend trips if you and I do need to be out together or the four of us do. It’s workable.”

His jaw tightened, arms uncrossing. He seemed to realize just how much she’d been thinking this over, a spark of fear in his eyes that he tried to mask, yet she could still see there. “You’ve been thinking about it.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but thinking for months now.”

“What if you die out there, Jo?”

“What if you do? I’m not going to not do the job out of fear. I’ve told you that before.”

He turned his head, looked at the cork tile wall, swallowed hard, and returned his attention to her. “Spend six months here. Put together cases --”

The word ’safe’ was implied. She shook her head. “No. I’ve been sidelined long enough. I need to be out there helping people.”

“What about helping our son grow up? Isn’t that important?” Desperation creeping into his voice.

“Don’t guilt trip me. I could turn that right around onto you.” Stretching out a hand, she touched his chest, slowly resting her entire palm against him. “I know this isn’t what you want for your family, but honey…Dean…this _is_ your family. I can’t be any other way and you knew that. You knew it and you married me anyway. You knew it and you stayed when I got pregnant, so don’t act like you had no idea this day was coming. You knew.”

“I did,” he acknowledged, “but I didn’t expect it so soon. I thought there’d be more time….”

“It’s time now. I know it is.”

He jerked back, turning away. “No. It’s not time. Just a little longer, Jo.”

“No.”

“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow.”

“I’m going.”

“You’re not.”

He seemed to think the subject was closed, a frustrating thing to Jo and though she tried to find a way to bring it up again without prodding his temper beyond restraint and completely ticking him off, she couldn’t think of a way to do it. She went to take a shower, standing beneath the spray ruminating upon it. She was going to have to tell him she was going after the Flapper dress and he wasn’t going to like it.

She got out and dried off, then wrapped the towel around herself and headed for their room. Dean was by the window just inside the door, shirtless, his pajama pants riding low on his hips. She closed the door and turned. He was right there close, having moved silently.

He grabbed her wrists and swung her against the wall, one hand loosing one wrist and tugging first the towel away, then the clip she’d used to keep her hair up and from getting wet. He dropped both, pressing her to the wall, his mouth coming down hard on hers, the ensuing kisses and caresses tinged with a hint of that desperation she’d heard in his voice earlier.

Jo wrapped her arms around Dean’s bare shoulders, hands sliding on skin that was hot to touch, feeling the muscles at play beneath the skin as he lifted her and carried her to their bed.

Dean didn’t say anything, he simply acted with an insistence that made her heartbeat quicken and sent a rushing of desire through her veins. The sheets on the bed were soft beneath her back, his weight a welcome press over her.

It had been so long….

To Jo, it felt like their first night together all over again and a return to that newness. He explored her body as though he’d never done so before and Jo, in turn, did the same. She found the spots that made him shudder, gasp, and groan, teasing those spots and enjoying the fact that she could still wring such responses from him after their months together.

Hours passed and when they finally laid still and spent, exhausted and sweating, Dean pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice sleepy. “I love you, Jo. Don’t you ever doubt that. I’d be a different man without you.”

She snuggled closer and fell asleep with his arms around her.

The secure sensation Jo had on waking in the morning twined with the joy of realizing that Jack had slept through the night for the first time. It had to be some sort of an omen. He _never_ slept through the night. She got out of bed, careful not to wake Dean, and looked in on their son before taking a shower and getting dressed.

She went downstairs and was pouring herself a mug of coffee when Sam and Gwen came in the house. From the look of them, they’d been out running together -- a good workout for Gwen to keep up with him and not much of one for Sam since he had to slow his pace so she _could_ keep up. “Good run,” she asked and took a sip of the coffee. The baby monitor registered Jack beginning to stir.

“Terrific,” Sam replied, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.

“Tough,” Gwen corrected, blotting her face with a towel. “Not sure running together was a good idea or not. I’m winded and ready to drop and he never is.”

Sam finished his water and chuckled. “You love it. You know you do.” He set the glass in the sink and jerked a thumb towards the doorway. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Gwen leaned against the counter. “I take it you and Dean made up?”

“Did we ever.” Jo began fixing a bottle. “How would you feel about going out on a pick up with me?”

“Say when and I’m totally there.”

“Today.”

Gwen paused before answering. “And Dean’s okay with that?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s not okay, but he will be once we get back in one piece.”

“Oh. So what’s the item?”

She let a little grin slip free. “Flapper dress. I got an email from Mary-Louise Sheffield’s representative a couple days ago.”

“Jo! You didn’t tell me!”

“Didn’t want to get too excited until after my appointment. Anyway, the dress has been included in the auction scheduled for four days from now. Sent me a listing of the items being auctioned. I thought we could go, lift it before the auction, and head back.”

“Security?”

“Minimal on the clothing items. No one appears to share Mary-Louise’s paranoia, which is our gain. I get the feeling her husband thinks she’s a silly airhead. Should be fairly easy to grab.”

“Sounds good. I’ll start packing after I shower.”

“Awesome. We’ll need to hit the store before we go. I want to pick up formula, diapers, and a few trip provisions. Give Dean as little as possible to use as an excuse to try to keep me from going.” She had a feeling he was going to grasp at anything he could.

“Not a problem. I’ll go shower and start packing then.”

Jo timed her announcement for the middle of breakfast. Sam and Gwen had already eaten earlier, but they were drinking coffee while Jo and Dean ate. There wasn’t any easy way to say it so she just did. “Gwen and I are heading out later today to pick up the Flapper dress. It’s an approximate two day drive there and two days back, plus a day to locate and nab, maybe two depending on the building and staffing present. Figure a week total.”

The look on Dean’s face was one of betrayal: shock, anger, and fear all blended together. He seemed to pale as he stared at her, then slammed down his silverware and shoved back his chair. He left his breakfast unfinished.

“Dean?”

Across the table, Gwen and Sam exchanged worried glances.

The door slammed and Jo closed her eyes. She’d hoped he’d had time to accept this, but apparently he really was going to drag his heels.

“I could go after him,” Sam offered.

She opened her eyes. “No, that’s okay Sam, thanks. Let him cool off. He knew this was coming. I told him yesterday. He just needs to….” She shrugged.

He nodded. “Work through it.”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t working through it though, staying outside in the yard, by the Impala, and in the garage, refusing to go with Sam to Bobby’s house. Gwen took Sam out to Bobby’s and returned to pack. Jo watched Dean through the windows, trying to gauge his mood. Was he calming down any? He didn’t appear to be.

Jo laid Jack down for his mid-morning nap and chewed on a thumbnail a moment in indecision. If she backed down now, he’d do this again and again, getting his way every time and that wasn’t how this needed to be. She _had_ to be out there doing the job. It was as much in her as it was in him. Turning from the window, she went to finish her own packing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Morning came quickly, dragging with it an anxiety Dean just couldn’t shake. He rolled onto his back in bed, covers bunched at his waist, listening to Jo singing softly to Jack on the monitor. Dread slid along his body and made itself at home. How soon until she said she was going on a job? It wouldn’t be long now. Had she found one? He hoped not. He hoped the prospects would remain slim for her searching.

Jo’s announcement over breakfast took away his appetite completely and he stormed outside, refusing to go back in the house as long as she was actively packing. He wasn’t going to pretend he condoned this action by helping. He puttered around the yard, doing a piss-poor job of yard work and mangling the back bushes, then puttered around in the garage, doing an equally bad job in there, and finally opened up the Impala.

There was nothing to do beneath the hood, yet Dean pretended to work anyway, keeping an eye on Jo and Gwen as they strapped Jack in the backseat of Gwen’s car and prepared to make a run in to the grocery store. They were chatty, laughing and talking, and to him, it felt like a huge kick in the gut.

Jo was really going to go out on a job. She knew his fears. He’d asked her not to go, to take more time, and she was still going.

She looked over at him and he quickly returned his attention to the engine. He heard her footsteps on the gravel as she approached.

“Dean?” Her voice was gentle and low. Careful, he decided. Her tone was careful, like she thought he might fly off the handle right now.

Nausea curled in his belly. “What?” He didn’t straighten or turn around.

“We’ll be back in a couple hours, then go over our route with you, pack the car and go.”

“Fine.”

“We’re swinging by mom’s house. Anything you want us to take over?”

“No.”

“Anything you want us to pick up at the store while we’re there? Some beer?”

“No.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

She made a frustrated noise. “Will you quit pretending to be working on her and look at me?”

She knew he was pretending. He should have realized that. Dean sighed and turned his head. “What, Jo?”

Her arms were crossed, a defensive posture. “Could you maybe not be a dick about this?”

“What do you want me to say? You’re for going, I’m against. We’ve covered this. You know where I stand on it and I’m not going to pretend I’m okay with you going out on a job when I’m not okay with it.”

“I’m going.”

“And you’ve made that abundantly clear. So go already.” He said the words with a far harsher tone than he’d intended.

There was a flicker of hurt in her eyes and she blinked several times in rapid succession.

Clearing the tears, he thought. She’s starting to cry.

“We’ll be back in a bit.” Her voice quivered a fraction and Jo turned and got in the car.

They were gone in minutes and Dean closed the hood and went inside. Thoughts swirled in his mind in unceasing frantic circles, _had_ been since he’d woken and Jo had made her announcement, coalescing into one terrified thought: what if this supposedly simple easy job ended with her dying?

That thought continued in his mind like a drill trying to punch even deeper inside him.

… _dying, dying, dying_ …

He couldn’t let that happen, had to protect her from it ever happening. He couldn’t lose her, not now, not when everything was finally right. If he lost her now, it’d be a disaster. He couldn’t lose her. He needed her. Dean knew it as surely as he knew he needed air to breathe.

Air he wasn’t getting.

Breathe. Why can’t I breathe? 

He gasped, trying to drag in air through a throat that felt like it was closing in. His heartbeat quickened, racing, and he began to experience a mild lightheaded sensation.

Can’t breathe, he thought, hands grasping the couch back, gripping it. He struggled to pull in air, images looking alternately too sharp and yet fuzzy and indistinct at the edges. 

I’m panicking, he realized with a jolt of recognition, and I can’t stop it.

His shirt suddenly felt soaked with sweat, sticking to him, the house too warm, almost tropical in temperature.

Dean moved, vaguely aware that he was doing so and that each action he took made the panic ease to bearable levels. He had to move, to take action of some sort. It was the only way. Going into Sam and Gwen’s room, he searched Gwen’s bag for the file, finding it in the side pocket. He took it. He packed Sam’s bag, then his own and put them in the Impala. Next was the cooler and a few snacks they had in the cupboards. Finally, he called Sam, concocting a story he thought sounded plausible, urging him to be ready when Dean got to Bobby’s.

Every time he slowed down, reason attempting to take over, the panic increased again.

I’m screwing up, he told himself, fully understanding that what he was about to do was going to piss Jo off so completely that he might be irrevocably damaging their relationship.

But he did it anyway, his fear of losing her overriding all of it. If he did this, she wouldn’t have to. She’d be safe for another week.

Dean crossed a line he knew he shouldn’t. He did it for Jo and hoped that some day, she’d be able to understand why and maybe, possibly, forgive him.


	10. Chapter 10

“No, he freakin’ didn’t.” Jo parked Gwen’s car scanning the area, hoping the Impala would be there somewhere when she could see that it was gone. Warning bells dinged in her mind.

The car was gone and when they’d left, Dean had been under the hood sulking, refusing to help Jo pack. His form of protest on her going out on a job.

“Bring Jack in for me.” She undid her seatbelt and got out, hurrying into the house. She went from one room to the next, noting that the cooler was gone, as were Dean’s toiletries and bag. “Son of a bitch,” she screamed.

Downstairs, the door slammed and Jack started crying.

Jo went downstairs. Gwen had set the carrier on the table and was working Jack from it. “Gwen, check your bag. Tell me the file is still there.”

She paused. “What --”

“The _file_ , Gwen. Is it still with your stuff?” Jo reached for Jack, finishing the job Gwen had started. He was working himself into an all out fit, continuing the tantrum he’d thrown in the store and seemed to be fighting her as she tried to remove his jacket.

Gwen went into the bedroom, returning in only seconds. Her good mood was gone, a scowl upon her face. “No. It’s gone and my bag’s been tossed.”

“Damn it!” She stomped a foot on the floor.

Jack screamed louder and Jo lifted him against her and stroked a finger along his cheek. “Shhh, baby. Hush, hush.” When he’d calmed somewhat, she handed him to Gwen and found her phone, dialing Dean’s number. “Better be a good explanation.”

As she held him, Gwen tried to calm him down, rocking him, teasing him with his pacifier. He refused to stop crying and Jo wondered if part of it was her own emotions influencing him.

Dean didn’t pick up. The call, and the next, and the next, went to voicemail. Her anger rising, Jo dialed Sam. She felt flushed and chilled at the same time.

Unlike Dean, Sam answered. “Hey, Jo.”

“Put my husband on the phone _right now_ , Sam.”

Beside her, Gwen was still rocking Jack in her arms, speaking soft and low to him, only half paying attention to Jo. One of her hands gently patted his back.

“Yeah, sure. Hold on. Dean --”

The call ended, Jo’s anger turned to ire that bubbled hot and furious. Vaguely, she realized that her cheeks were wet with tears. “How dare he do this,” she whispered. “How dare he make this decision for me?” Her heart hurt, her chest aching. It felt like her mother all over again only worse, because it was Dean.

“Jo?” 

“Call Sam? Please?”

From the ensuing conversation on Gwen’s end, it sounded like Sam hadn’t known what Dean was doing, but at the moment, Jo didn’t feel like forgiving either of them.

~~~~~~~~~~

If there was one thing Sam knew about Jo, it was that she put together a good file. Better than good, actually. He flipped pages and read through notes as Dean drove. He’d been surprised Jo and Gwen had given up the case, since Jo had been anticipating working it, but Dean had told him they’d said they could take it. He’d said he was sure it was okay.

Whatever. He was just glad to be doing something. He hated the dry spells and would take what they could get.

“Man, Jo’s good,” he said. Dean grunted. “This file is fantastic. She talked to the owner, posed as an interested potential buyer, got a lot of good detail.” Location and security on the dress. The current owner was apparently afraid someone would steal it. Like they were planning on doing. “Should be an easy pick-up. Go in and nab it before the auction.”

Dean’s phone rang and he took it out, glancing at it and declining the call. When it happened a second time, a tiny suspicion began to scratch at the back of Sam’s mind. 

The third time, he cleared his throat. “You want to get that?”

“No.”

“Dean?” His own phone rang. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find it was Jo. He handed his phone to Dean at her request.

Dean ended the call and tossed it back to him.

He caught it. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

“You always want to talk to her.”

“Not today I don’t.”

“Tell me you didn’t do what I’m beginning to think you did.” The second call he received was from Gwen, who made it clear what was really going on. Sam hung up. “That was Gwen.”

“Imagine that.”

“You snaked their case, Dean, and you lied to me about it.”

“Jo’s not ready to go. I don’t care what Doctor Marsha Ames says and what Jo thinks. She’s not ready.”

“You told me Jo gave it to you and Gwen agreed we could have it.”

A guilty frown appeared slowly. “Maybe I did.”

“Maybe? You lied.”

“Okay, I admit, I took the file. Jo’s not --”

“What about Gwen? Not like _she_ just had a baby. You were completely unfair to her on this.”

“She’ll get over it.”

Sam shook his head. “You deal with them when we get back.”

He snorted. “You accepted the story. You’re going to be in as much hot water as me. We’ll both have to deal.”

“Dean.” He was right though, Sam realized with a twinge of guilt. He’d accepted the story Dean had given him because he’d been bored and ready to be out doing something. He hadn’t even questioned it and he should have.

“Like Gwen doesn’t have a dozen other projects lined up. I’ve seen how she works.”

She didn’t have projects though, not anything that’d keep her really busy. None of them had projects. “Yeah, and you’ve also seen how your wife works and you took their case, pissed Jo off, and left her home. Weren’t thinking too clearly, were you? You know very well Jo’s capable of taking Jack to Ellen, any nursing be damned, and heading out after us.”

“Not if I call Ellen first.”

“Turn around.”

Dean didn’t answer, the line of his jaw tense and tight.

“Turn around,” Sam repeated. “We’re only two hours out. We’ll go back and --”

“No.”

“Turn around.”

“No,” he yelled, slamming on the brakes and pulling over onto the side of the road.

When Sam had pushed back from the dashboard, he noticed Dean was carefully trying to keep his emotions in check. The tense jaw was him clenching his teeth, his stare fixed firm upon the road as though if he looked anywhere else, he’d break down.

Dean unclenched his hands from the wheel, rested them flat against it. His hands were shaking. “We’re not going back.” He bit each word out like a single sentence.

“Why not? Do you not get how royally pissed Jo is right now? We go on and --”

“Don’t care.”

But he did care. Sam could see it on his face. He did care that he was hurting Jo by this and was determined to do it anyway. “Yes, you do.”

“She’ll die out here and it’s going to be dad all over again only me as him.”

“It’s a pick-up. Nothing complicated and nothing she hasn’t done a hundred times. She and Gwen could handle this, easy.”

“I’m not ready. She may be, but I’m not.”

That was the crux of it. It wasn’t that Jo wasn’t ready, it was Dean who wasn’t, who couldn’t handle her back out working cases. “You made a unilateral decision. Ellen could tell you just how well _that_ turns out where Jo’s concerned.”

He slid an unfriendly, cold glance Sam’s way. “You trying to be funny?”

“No. It’s the truth. You know this. Think about it Dean. It’s the same thing Ellen did to her, telling her she couldn’t go out. Ellen held on too tight and Jo left. You going to make her mistake all over again? Or are you going to learn from that and give her some room?”

He slowly leaned his head back. When he spoke, it sounded almost like he was trying to talk while choking. “I had a panic attack, Sam. A damn panic attack.”

“You don’t have panic attacks, Dean.”

“I had one. Couldn’t breathe, thought my heart was gonna freakin’ explode. Only thing made it better was taking the file and heading out.”

“We’ve got to go back.”

“No. We get the damn dress and that’s final.”

Two more hours passed. 

Gwen wasn’t taking his calls or answering texts now and Sam put his phone away with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. Of _course_ anything that passed between Jo and Dean would bleed out into Sam and Gwen’s own relationship. Living and working together pretty much guaranteed it. What affected one relationship affected the other.

Dean refused to turn around, insisting they had to retrieve the dress, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. They were going to bring back the dress and buy time for Dean to come to grips with Jo going back out. While he’d been fine with her hunting before, the addition of Jack seemed to have pushed him over that comfort edge. He was afraid of leaving Jack an orphan.

It was a valid fear and Sam didn’t know if he’d react any differently in Dean’s place. Still, he’d known when he’d married her and when he’d stayed that this day would come. He _should_ have known.

How were they going to deal with that? Sam wasn’t sure what the best way was to go about it. It might need to be a group effort since Dean had a panic attack over it.

Geez, he thought. Panic attacks now. That was going to work out great, Dean getting panic attacks every time Jo went out on a job. He sighed and shifted in the seat, stretching one leg out. “Dean --”

“Don’t you say it, Sam.”

“Did you talk to her about it?”

“I told her.”

“Did you tell her your feelings on it?”

“We had a beautiful romance novel moment where I told her she could die out here and she said she was going out whether I wanted it or not.” He reached into the bag on the seat beside him. “Here. Open the chips.”

Sam opened the bag and wedged it between the gas store bag and the seat back. “Call her. Stop and call her, tell her you had a panic attack.” He opened his bottle of water and took a long drink.

He made a disgusted face at the windshield. “Why should I? Gwen’ll tell her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean snorted. “Means you tell her everything. You’re practically a hive mind these days.”

Hive mind? “I don’t tell her everything. You tell Jo everything.” He dipped his head in a single nod. “Except about your panic attack, which she needs to know about.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Does not. It happened once.”

“Does too, and what if it happens again?”

“It won’t.”

“You’re telling her.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Will you quit arguing about it? Pull over.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Dean, will you quit being stubborn and pull over already?”

“I’m not being stubborn, you’re being stubborn.” He cast a sidelong glance at Sam. “Bitch.”

Sam suppressed an amused twitch of his lips. “Jerk.”

Dean relaxed back against the seat at the answering quip. “When we get back,” he told him. “I just…. I need to figure out how.” He ate a few chips. “Besides, we’re both in deep now anyway, too many hours out. Might as well finish it.”

The reasoning was skewed, but Sam got the point. In for a penny, in for a pound.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her emotions rolled in a fast boil. Jo experienced mood swings that were every bit as bad as she’d experienced the week after she’d had Jack. She was tempted to pick something and run, the only thing stopping her being Jack.

Their child.

It would be irresponsible to drop everything and leave him. She could imagine what her mother would say about that. Twice she’d come close, Gwen talking her down both times, finally agreeing to go out in her stead, going back to one property they’d already checked and taking the pictures Dean hadn’t taken.

A few hours after they’d discovered Dean gone, she received a call. Jo listened to the caller and slowly smiled, some of the ire that remained draining away. She hung up.

“What?” Gwen looked over at her. She was feeding Jack and looked like she was enjoying every second of it. Her shoulders were relaxed and there was an air of peace about her. Jo thought Gwen would make a good mother if she and Sam ever had kids. A big ‘if’. “You seem dangerously smug.”

“That’s because I am. Guess who that was?”

“Who?”

“Mary-Louise. Totally pissed because she found out her husband put all the clothing items in this auction. She’s pulled them all and plans to re-list in the original auction in January.”

“And?”

She could feel the satisfaction surging through her veins like a high taking her over. “It’s already packed back up in her vault.”

“Okay then. Give them a call and tell them.” She set the bottle aside and burped Jack. As usual, he did two in a row fairly easily. “There’s a good boy,” she murmured.

Jo shook her head. “No. He wants to make an arbitrary decision for me, then I’ll make one for him. We don’t call, just like what’d happen with a stolen case.”

“They’re gonna waste their time,” she warned, then made a disgusted frown as Jack spit up all across the towel she’d draped across her chest. “I hate it when he does that.” She folded the towel and set it aside. “Hand me a new one?”

“Always a possibility when you steal someone else’s case.” Jo handed her a fresh towel from the stack on the coffee table. “Here.”

She laid it across her chest and maneuvered Jack close again. His head bobbed as he looked at her, then rested his cheek against her. “True, but --”

Jo began to pace. “He’s so worried about me getting hurt. If you and I had gone as planned, we’d be turning around about now and wouldn’t even have been gone ten hours, but he pulled this shit and I’m going to let him deal with the consequences of his stealing.”

“And bust his balls when he gets home.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She shrugged. “Depends on how pissed I still am when they get back. I had a life of my mother doing that to me to keep me safe. I won’t let my husband do the same thing. He knows I can do the job. It’s just his fear talking.”

Her anger began to drain away, replaced with a sadness that stayed with her as she waited for Dean and Sam to return from their fool’s errand.

~~~~~~~~~~

They couldn’t find the dress, or any of the other clothing items listed. After three sweeps of the building, Dean accepted momentary defeat. They’d just have to go to the auction, see who it got sold to and do an intervention somehow.

He mulled it over back in their motel room, hating that it wasn’t going as planned.

“Hey Dean? Do you remember how Aaron met Mia?” Sam put a thumb in the book he’d been reading, marking his place. Must be Neal’s journal in his hands. Both Sam and Gwen had had Aaron on the brain lately.

He tried to recall what had been said on the matter. “She was a victim, part of a job, and he fell for her.” He poured two thumbs of whiskey into a glass for himself, hesitated a second and poured one thumb for Sam in a second glass, setting it before him. “Though knowing what we do now, I question the victim part.”

“She engineered that so she could get close to the Campbells, but listen to this. I’ve been reading Neal’s journals starting around five years before Gwen was born and…I found something on the dress.”

“What’s it got to do with Aaron and Mia?”

“Just listen.” He cleared his throat. “Tracked it to Andra Simmons, 1971, who sold it to Beverly Thomson. Thomson died in a freak car accident not long after wearing the dress and the dress disappeared. Andra Simmons also disappeared. It surfaced again a couple weeks ago. All attempts to retrieve the damn thing have been unsuccessful. It’s once more gone. Viv couldn’t get it.”

“And?” Dean sipped at the liquor. “Who’s Viv?”

“Aaron’s girlfriend.”

“Okay. Get to the point.”

“I’ll skip down. You can read the whole account later.” He flipped a page. “Flighty Viv. God, the bitch. She tells A. she loves him, then leaves him a note and runs off while he’s sleeping. If I ever get my hands around her skinny throat, I’ll throttle her. Tried to console him with that ‘first loves don’t usually last’ rot, but he’s moping around. Plan on joining him when he goes tomorrow. Signs of a ghoul in Minnesota. Young woman he talked to (Mia) terrified. Hope this job will cheer him up. He needs a good damsel in distress to get him back in the game.”

“Sounds like something. So Viv. runs off, clearing the way for Mia.”

“I might be making a leap here, but maybe Mia used the dress to draw her out and killed her, then planted the note. Having been at Mia’s mercy, I think it’s probable. I mean, the Campbells were chasing this dress from it’s first kill and Mia was chasing them.”

“Or maybe she worked a spell to make her leave. Gwen read that journal?” He indicated the book with a wave of his glass.

“She’s working through Patricia’s first.”

“Mmm.” He tried calling Jo, but she didn’t answer. Punishment for him maybe? He noticed Gwen wasn’t answering Sam’s calls either.

Auction day was a mess. They both overslept, their server at the restaurant they went to for breakfast lost their order, and cold sleety rain began to fall. By the time the auction came around, he was antsy, in a bad mood, and they walked in late due to an accident three blocks away. Then to discover that while they were in their best suits, they were still out of place. He scowled down at the booklet. Nothing on this trip was going well. 

“Well hello.”

A voice intruded on his thoughts and he looked up.

“I didn’t realize we ran in the same circles.” Denise Atwater looked very different than she had a few months earlier, dressed in red carpet attire as opposed to the casual clothes she’d worn when they’d first met her.

Dean glanced around them, shoving the booklet at Sam, who took it and smoothed it out. “We don’t usually, but when there’s an item we’re interested in, we make an exception.”

Her expression shifted from amusement to concern. “What item?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I know what you deal with, Mr. Winchester. If it’s something I’m interested in, I’ll back down. A brush was enough for my taste.”

Sam opened the auction booklet and held it out. “The flapper dress.”

Her already pale features blanched. “Well then. I’m afraid you’re out of luck. You missed the announcement. It was removed from this auction, along with the rest of the clothing items.”

He bit back a curse.

“Removed?” Sam closed the booklet. “What happened?”

“Rumor is they were included in this auction by mistake, one Mary-Louise corrected.”

“You know her?”

“Not personally. By reputation.”

An elderly woman approached and drew up beside Denise. She was dressed in a conservative suit that still managed to scream ‘money’ far more than some of the flashy dresses the rest of the women were wearing. “Denise dear, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…Mary-Louise is a fool.”

“Everyone knows that,” she replied in a reasonable tone, “even those who’ve never met her. A fool with money….” She eyed Dean and Sam, approval in her dark eyes as she looked them over. “Introductions, dear. You’re being rude.”

“Aunt Nicki, this is Sam and Dean Winchester. The _investigators_ I mentioned.”

“Aunt,” Dean asked with heavy skepticism as they shook hands.

“It’s an honorary title of sorts. We’re not related. I’m just…part of the local scene at times.” Nicki’s brows rose, her lips turning up a fraction at the corners. “Winchester. Like the gun?” 

Her eyes were such a dark brown that Dean felt drawn to her. He stared, committing her features to memory. “Yes.” Had they met before? He thought he’d remember her if they had.

“An unusual name. Are you related to the San Jose Winchesters?”

Sam glanced at him. “You mean Sarah? Built the mystery house?”

Delight flickered in her eyes. “I do mean.”

“I don’t believe there’s a connection,” Sam told her. “She and Oliver had one child who died. They never had any more.”

Nice to see Sam’s well of trivial facts being useful, Dean thought, swirling the liquid about in his glass. It was some kind of punch and didn’t smell remotely alcoholic. He hadn’t taken a single sip.

“There must be somewhere,” she insisted. “It’d make your jobs that much more romantic to claim a connection.”

Romantic? Just what had Denise Atwater told this woman? “Not a romantic life at all,” Dean corrected. “It’s hard, dirty, and dangerous.”

“Romantic by today’s standards I mean. For those who’ve never experienced terror and the consequences, it’s very romantic to picture two attractive men saving the world.” She said ‘saving the world’ like it was a joke.

A blush appeared on Denise’s cheeks, whether embarrassment for Nicki’s words and tone or another emotion. “Did your wife have the baby,” she blurted, a blatant attempt to change the topic, turning to face Dean fully. “You’d said she was about…six months, I believe?”

“She did. A boy.”

“Wonderful.”

“A month early, but he didn’t need to stay. He was bigger than a couple of the full term babies in the nursery.”

“Congratulations.” She cast little glances at Nicki as though begging her to behave.

He reached for his wallet. “Want to see a picture?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Dean.”

He paused, letting his wallet slide back into his pocket. “Another time maybe.”

Nicki quirked a brow. “Refreshing to see a young man show pride in his family. Too many these days don’t _treasure_ what they have.”

Denise recoiled like she’d been slapped and drained her glass. “If you’ll excuse me?” Turning, she stalked away.

“What was that about,” Dean asked.

She tilted her head a fraction. “A situation her money can’t buy her out of and no one can help her but herself. I hear you did a very good job with a problem she had?”

“We did work for her,” he acknowledged with a nod. She’d paid well in the end, too, far more than he or Sam ever would have asked for if they’d thought of asking.

She studied them both a long while. “You’re _really_ John Winchester’s boys?”

The mention of their dad’s name shocked him a little. “Yeah. You knew him?”

“We met a few times. Ran after the same objects.”

The same objects? Cursed objects. Had to be. Was she a hunter then? Strange to think of this elegant woman as a hunter, but it could be true. He saw the same surprise in Sam’s eyes that he knew was in his own. “And you are?”

“I am…curious how good you really are. I’ve heard some stories about you two.”

A man pushed through the crowd and slung an arm about Nicki’s shoulders. He looked ill at ease in his suit, tugging at his neck. “C’mon, Nic. I’ve had enough of this fancy-shmancy shindig. Let’s hit the road.” His dark hair was buzzed close to his scalp, but he had a noticeable bald spot and this was obviously not his sort of crowd. “Don’t know why you wanted to stay after they made that announcement.”

So she was interested in one of the clothing items. The Flapper dress perhaps? It was the only cursed thing Dean was aware of that was supposed to be here. Watching the man, Dean was reminded of his first time trying to fit in at something like this, though it appeared more like this man had no patience with it rather than not having experience.

“I had acquaintances to speak to. Abe, I’m in the middle of a discussion.”

“Well, hurry it up.” His shoulders shifted beneath the jacket and he snatched her glass from her, drinking down the liquid and setting the glass on the nearest flat surface. “There’s a steak at Lonestar with my name on it.”

Nicki glanced at him and back at them. “I apologize for my husband’s uncouth behavior gentleman.”

“Nothing wrong with eyeing a good steak,” Dean said. “I’m a fan of one myself.” He grinned at the older man.

Abe’s lips twitched in what might have been an answering gesture. “Hear that, woman? Steak is where it’s at. Wrap it up. I’m getting the car.”

Dean was mildly surprised when Abe whacked his palm to Nicki’s behind with enough force to make her stumble. Her expression indicated that she thoroughly enjoyed it, too, before she composed herself again.

“Again, I apologize. He hates auctions, but they’re sometimes necessary. You understand.”

“You’re after the dress, aren’t you?”

She smiled. “John was very proud of you two. I remember that.” Her smile faded. “Can you get that dress before I do? How about…losers buy the winner dinner before a ceremonial burning of the cursed thing?”

She already had it, didn’t she? Or was sure she was going to. “And how will we find you for that dinner and burning once we have it?”

Her laugh was loud and delighted. “I like a cocky attitude, Mr. Winchester, and I believe you’ll find me once you really start trying. I’m not hidden. I’m out in the world. There are still people in the life who know me.” Reaching out, Nicki adjusted Sam’s tie, then his. “I must go darlings. Abe is waiting and he gets cranky if I’m not prompt. I look forward to our future meeting.” She patted his cheek. “Bring your wife if you can. We wives need to stick together.” Nicki sashayed towards the door.

Dean drew out his phone, carefully snapping a picture of her when she paused to turn and give them a jaunty wave. “What’s say we follow grandma and grandpa?”

Nicki moved faster than Dean thought a woman her age should move and by the time they managed to reach the lot out back, she and Abe were nowhere in sight. Dean didn’t bother biting back a curse this time. “Damn it!” He continued on in that vein for some time.

Not only were they going back empty handed, they were going back empty handed to Jo after he’d stopped her from going out. The reception they would receive wasn’t going to be a good one.


	11. Chapter 11

Jo was waiting when they came through the door, arms crossed. “So? Where is it? Let me see it.”

Gwen got up from the couch and came to stand beside her.

With a calm Sam knew he wasn’t feeling, Dean laid the file on the table. Nothing on their trip had gone well, from the weather to the pick-up itself. He’d been in a bad mood for four days now. “We don’t have it.”

“Why not?” It wasn’t an actual query for information, said as though she already knew the answer.

“The owner removed it from auction. It never reached the auction facility and stayed firmly in the storage vault.”

Jo quirked a brow. “Correct.”

The air turned charged, Dean’s eyes narrowing, glance shooting to her. “You knew.” He took off his jacket, tossed it towards the couch back, where it missed completely and fell to the floor.

With a small smug look, Jo flipped open the folder to her notes and tapped one. “Personal contact with the owner. She emailed me that she was taking it and the other clothing items out of the auction and would re-list in January. There was a misunderstanding between her and her husband about what items were supposed to be in this auction.”

“You couldn’t have called with that information?”

“Sure, I could’ve.” Her tongue thrust out the center of one cheek for several seconds. “Why should I have? You stole my case and tried to keep me at home.”

“You let us waste our time.”

Though it hadn’t been a waste, had it? They’d met an elderly woman who’d apparently known their dad, met her husband, and been challenged to beat her to the dress. Not a total loss of a few days.

“If you hadn’t freaked out and run off, Gwen and I wouldn’t even have gotten ten hours out before coming back so yeah, _honey_ , I let you waste your time.”

Gwen hadn’t said a word yet and she whirled, walking into their bedroom and slamming the door.

Sam crossed the room slowly, tuning out Jo and Dean’s exchange and found the door unlocked. He stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, then set his bag on the floor and took his shoes off. 

“Did you even question him, Sam?” She was getting undressed with her back to him, pulling on pajamas that were more covering than what she’d been wearing to sleep in. When he’d left, she’d still been wearing the short shorts and tank top pajamas. This current set left very little skin showing. He thought it might be an indication of how upset she was. When she felt vulnerable, she’d cover up a bit more than when she was comfortable. “That day, I mean. Did you question him?”

“Of course I did.”

She dropped her clothes into the basket at the end of the bed and moved back to the head of the bed, turning down the covers. “Well, you must not have questioned him very hard on my supposed change of heart about going out on that case since you knew I was packing for it when I took you out to Bobby’s.”

“You’ve changed your mind before,” he pointed out.

“Not after packing.” 

“Look,” he began to change clothes himself, exchanging travel clothes for sweats and a t-shirt, “I thought maybe Jo and Dean had talked, really talked about it, and come to an agreement like mature adults, like a _married_ couple. They’ve done it before. I didn’t know right then that he’d nabbed the file. Didn’t know until you called later.”

Hands on her hips, she shook her head. “God, you two! You, _neither_ of you, showed any interest in this until we had it ready to go, like you think we’re just here to work up files for you.”

What the hell? Where was this coming from?

“You’d just ‘mm-hmm’ and act like it was a pretty little diversion to keep us out of your hair and safe at home.”

“You know that’s not true.” The words ’safe at home’ clued him in. It was an old pain of hers from Samuel’s run of the Campbell family business. He’d tried to keep the women home safe as much as possible, which had chafed at Gwen. She’d been in the field up to his arrival and to be asked to stay back or be at the back of the group had hurt her. Speaking her mind on the issue had done no good. Samuel had been stuck in his ways and, pressured from all sides, she’d relented with the assurance that he’d just needed to ‘assess her skills’ before letting her have more of a role. The bigger role had never truly happened because even after a year, she’d still been told to be at the back of the group out of the way.

“Isn’t it? When was the last time I went out on an actual job, alone or with someone?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Ever since Battle Creek, I’ve been staying back, clipping articles for _your_ cases.”

“That was your decision, Gwen. You decided to do that. I never said you had to. I never asked you to. You could’ve gone out if you’d wanted. If you’re happy out there, then go, work a case. I want you happy.”

“I couldn’t wait to be back out, Jo and I, a team again.”

She’d missed being a team with Jo. Sam could understand that. When he worked a case without Dean he missed having him there and Gwen and Jo worked nearly as well together as he and Dean. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know --”

“No.” Crossing her arms, she shook her head again. “I don’t accept your apology. Not tonight.” Bending, she picked up one pillow and tossed it at him.

Surprised, he caught it. She was still hurt and he wondered how much was from this and how much was that old hurt from Samuel bubbling over into the present. Did _she_ even know? He thought there was more of the old hurt in her reaction right now than anything else. “What? Are you telling me to sleep on the couch?”

“If you can beat Dean to it.” Implying she thought he was going to also be kicked out of bed. “Otherwise, it’s floor city.”

She’d never done this before, kicked him out of both their bed and bedroom, and Sam stared at her in mild disbelief. “You’re punishing me for believing my brother?”

“Sam, deep down you knew he was lying. You had to have because you know Dean better than anyone. You knew and you went anyway. You _kept_ going even after you knew what really happened.” 

“Dean wouldn’t turn around.” He’d tried to get him to with no success. “Was I supposed to abandon him out there, take the first flight, bus, or train back here? Gwen --”

She sat on the bed, not answering his query. “You can just go sleep on the couch and maybe I’ll forgive you in the morning.” She licked her lips. “It was a crap thing to do and you know it. Stealing a case…. I’m not inclined to put up with that. Not from you. I won’t. I can’t. Not from you, Sam. You’ve never treated me that way, even back when you had no soul. You accepted me as a hunter and asset then, please don’t start this protective crap now just because….”

Because she was his girlfriend. That was what she was trying to say. Don’t change because of that.

“I’m not a fragile porcelain doll that needs to be protected anymore than Jo is. You know I can take care of myself and that I have the sense to ask for help if I need it.” She blinked several times fast.

Sam saw tears slip down her cheeks.

“Jo and I are a good team. We’ve gotten through some scrapes neither of us ever told you and Dean about, scrapes that were bad, so give us some credit, will you?”

“Gwen, I know you and Jo are a good team. So does Dean.” He hugged the pillow to his chest. “But there’s something you don’t know about why we kept moving after your call. You need to trust me that I couldn’t stop Dean and leaving him to go on by himself wasn’t an option I’d choose then. Another time, maybe. Not then.” Not after finding out he’d had a genuine panic attack and what sounded like a bad one.

“What thing is that?”

He shook his head. Dean had accused him of telling Gwen everything, but he didn’t. He kept some matters to himself and this was one unless Dean said he could tell her. “I can’t say, not yet anyway. It’s something serious, though. Keep that in mind before you feel too betrayed.” Sam studied her a minute, until she raised a hand and wiped at her eyes, then left so she could cry without him watching.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo was silent as she made up bottles, not looking at him and Dean cleared his throat. “You gonna stay mad at me forever?” He leaned against the doorjamb and watched Jo put those bottles in the fridge.

“What do _you_ think,” she said. Her tone lacked anger. All he heard was exhaustion. There hadn’t been any real anger in her voice from the moment they’d gotten back. A bit of smugness that she’d already known the dress wasn’t there, but not anger.

“I think I screwed up.” He thought they both had, handling this badly. He hadn’t listened completely to her and she hadn’t listened completely to him, but now wasn’t the time to delve into that, not when it was already late and he was fresh in from traveling. They needed a full night of sleep to do the talking they needed to about this.

Jo closed the fridge door, rested both hands on it a moment and turned to face him. “You know what angers me the most, Dean? After having spent the past few days really thinking about it?”

He shook his head. “What?”

“It’s not that you stole a case you knew I’d been working on and was excited to go out on, or even that Gwen and I were actively packing to leave. Those make me mad, but I can get over them. I get why you took the case, I do. I understand, even though I hadn’t really understood then how deep your fear was. Very…deep.” She rested a hand on one hip. “What still pisses me off even now is that you waited until we were at the store with Jack before leaving. You left without….” Her lips pressed into a thin line and she crossed her arms. “You didn’t say goodbye or anything. You were just gone.” 

He was seeing that defensive posture a lot from her recently, hating that he was the one making her use that posture. They should be united, not at odds with each other. 

“How would you feel if I’d done that? Left while you were at the store with our child? No note, nothing. What were you thinking?”

None of it was said in an angry tone and perhaps that was the worst of all. “Guess maybe I wasn’t.” He’d thought she’d be upset about not going out, not that he’d left without saying goodbye. That part hadn’t occurred to him and he realized it should have because he’d be pissed too if she’d done it.

She uncrossed her arms. “You get up with Jack tonight. Bottles are in the fridge. I’m going to bed and I’m wearing earplugs.” Jo shoved the baby monitor at him and pushed past him.

“I had a panic attack, okay,” he said in a low voice right as she stepped into the living room, taking Sam’s advice and admitting it to her.

Jo paused, “Panic attack,” took two steps back so that she was right beside him and turned her head, staring up at him. “Dean….” She shook her head slowly and he could see in her eyes that she knew panic attacks were serious business. “Why didn’t you tell me that day?”

He put one hand in his jeans pocket. “I’m not supposed to have panic attacks. I’m supposed to be able to handle things.”

“How bad?”

“You know about them?”

“There was a woman came in the Roadhouse had panic attacks. Mom regularly had to talk Alice down from one just so the woman could go home. I know they can be bad. Some people have to go to the emergency room over them. How bad was yours, Dean?”

He glanced down at the floor and back at her. “Bad enough the only thing made it better was taking the file so you didn’t have to go out.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a several long seconds, an expression that was pure Ellen. Right there, she looked just like her mother. Her eyes opened. “You should have told me when I tried calling you.”

“In hindsight, yeah, but at the time…. Putting miles between us felt like the best option.”

She stared at him and he saw tears in her eyes before she blinked them away. Jo looked down at the floor. “Will you please get up with Jack for me tonight? I need a break after the past few days.”

No longer a weary, upset order, but a request. “Already planned on it.”

“Thank you.” She took a step away and glanced back. “Be up soon?”

“If I can wind my mind down.”

Jo crossed the living room and went up the stairs.

Dean stood still a minute before turning and finding Sam slouched on the couch, a pillow beside him. He joined him, dropping down onto the cushion beside him. “You in the doghouse or something?”

“Over something that’s not even my fault. Thanks, bro. Really feeling the love right now. Gwen’s pissed because I believed you and pissed because I didn’t somehow make you turn around.”

“You didn’t have to go with me.”

“Jo kick you out?”

“Nope.” He stretched. “I can go up to bed anytime I want.” 

“Let me get this straight. _You_ have the argument with your wife, have a panic attack that leads you to take the file, then you refuse to turn around, and generally piss off both women in this house, but _I’m_ the one who gets kicked out of my bed and bedroom?” 

“Sucks to be you, huh?”

“Shut up, Dean, just…shut it.” He looked at the tv, pointed the remote and turned it on.

They sat in silence, watching a succession of commercials, before Dean glanced at him. “You want a beer?”

“Yes.”

Getting up, he grabbed two from the fridge and returned. “I never meant to get Gwen pissed at you.”

Sam took a long drink and sighed. “Actually, I don’t think it’s all the current issue. I think she had some whopper of a Samuel flashback when we left and it, combined with our recent inactivity, hit her all at once.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Like you have room to talk. Like _any_ of us in the house have room to talk. We’re all messed up one way or the other.”

They clinked bottles at that.

“Except Jack,” Sam amended. “He isn’t messed up. Can’t be. He’s not even three months old.”

“Are you kidding? Course he’s messed up. He’s just too little to know it yet. Twenty years down the road from now?” Dean waved a hand about in the air. “Issues up the whazoo.”

“Now that’s a cheery thought.”

“Think about it. What hunter have you ever met that hasn’t had some sort of major issue or ten?” Acknowledging that path his son would most likely choose. It was in his blood.

“Most.”

“Exactly. It’s inevitable.”

Sam took a long drink of beer and turned the conversation back to Gwen. “Plus, she misses being a team out there with Jo.”

“They _are_ a good team.” He used present tense because, in his mind, the two were still a team. Jo going back to the field wasn’t in the past, he simply needed to work up to her returning was all.

“She wants to be back out there with her, Gwen and Jo against the world.”

Silence a moment.

“You know,” Sam began a little hesitantly, “ you can’t keep Jo safe. We’re all in the line of fire. It’s our job and we all signed on for it.”

“Yeah? How are you feeling about Gwen going out there? I mean really, underneath it all?” He stared at the tv, hearing Sam suck in a noisy breath. “You think you’ve been sneaky since Battle Creek? Since the Alp?”

“I haven’t --”

“Yes, you have. You may tell yourself and her that you want her out there because it makes her happy, just like I try to tell myself and Jo about her, but you and I both know the truth.” He cast a sidelong glance at Sam. “You’ve got just as much of a thing about her safety as I have for Jo’s. A lot of these issues I have, you do too.”

“Maybe.”

“I know you like I know myself, Sam. We’re two peas in a pod as far as issues go.”

He grunted and didn’t reply, turning up the volume on the tv slightly.

Sam stretched out on the couch a little after eleven while Dean watched tv from the chair, the volume on low. He went up to change Jack once and feed him once, then was able to settle down halfway into a dozing sort of sleep himself, where he woke about every hour. If he went up to bed, he knew he’d end up waking Jo with his tossing and turning, so he stayed in the chair.

At two-thirty, the door to Sam and Gwen’s bedroom opened. Gwen was silhouetted in the doorway a minute before she crossed to the couch and crouched down. “Sam,” she whispered, hand touching his face.

From Dean’s place, he had a perfect view of the look on Gwen’s face right then. Tender affection, love…. She was so totally smitten with Sam that it wasn’t even funny. Of course, Sam was gaga over her too. Good for them both. Dean remained still, watching.

Sam roused and raised up onto his elbows. “Gwen? What --”

“Shh.” Her fingertips touched his lips. “Don’t wake Dean. Come in to bed.”

“Uh…you kicked me out, remember?”

“I reconsidered. I couldn’t sleep while mad at you. So…I forgive you. Come in to bed.”

He sat up and she moved to sit beside him. “Why?”

“Because it’s done. It’s over. I’m hurt you didn’t question Dean right away, but I understand. You thought he’d told you the truth.” She set a hand on his leg. “I’m sorry. I let a bunch of old crap I thought I’d let go of come back up and…. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you or Jo…and Dean didn’t either.” Sam cleared his throat. “Did you, Dean?”

“I’m asleep,” he said and dropped all pretense of it, shifting in the chair to sit up a bit more.

Gwen snapped on the light. “Shitty thing you did to us. To Jo.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you?”

“I do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Jo and I have a lot to work out on this.”

“Understatement.”

Gwen and Sam disappeared into their bedroom, the door firmly shut and Dean began to think about the situation. He didn’t want her out there yet, wasn’t ready to handle it, but Jo wanted to be in the field, _needed_ to be there in some capacity. What would he be okay with? What could he handle at the moment? What sort of jobs wouldn’t put him into a panic at the very thought of them?

As he pondered those questions, an idea slowly formed, one he decided could work -- if Jo would agree to it.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was one of the longest sleepless nights Jo had ever had. Dean didn’t come up to bed. She laid awake most of the night, not wearing earplugs like she’d said, hearing every time he came upstairs and went into Jack’s room. Jo laid still in their bed, pondering their marriage and wondering if he had it in him to push past this and if she had it in her to accept it if he couldn’t. She was beginning to realize that there was a good possibility Dean couldn’t face seeing her in the field at all now that they had a child. She might have to accept a different role until Jack was grown and though it hurt to think of her career path changing so drastically for years, Dean might not be able to handle it otherwise.

If she seriously pushed this, it could end her marriage and life with Dean. It was that much of an issue.

The idea of having to choose between hunting and her husband….

Jo blinked back tears.

She’d told him he’d known how she was when they’d married, but that street went both ways. Jo had known how Dean was as well. She’d known how hard it was going to be for him once Jack had come along and she’d pushed on anyway. Not one of her best decisions in recent days.

She rolled onto her back. She’d pushed and he’d had a panic attack. 

Son of a bitch that’s a serious thing, she thought. Jo remembered Alice having a bad one back at the Roadhouse one night and her mom calling for an ambulance when a hunter accidentally made it worse.

What were her priorities here? What was the best thing for both of them and for Jack? She couldn’t be stubborn because Dean’s health was at stake. It’d physically hurt him if she went out and he wasn’t ready to handle it.

By the time morning came, Jo had had maybe four hours total sleep. Her head ached, her heart felt sad and heavy, and she was already depressed for what she knew was likely to happen. Sidelined. She was going to be sidelined and it was either willingly go into it or destroy her husband, marriage, and family.

Choosing the latter wasn’t an option. She loved Dean, loved being married to him, and loved their family.

The bedroom door opened and she slowly sat up to face her future.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean opened their bedroom door, stood there a moment studying Jo. Her eyes looked swollen, like she’d been crying all night. He came in, closed the door and set the folder in his hands down on the bed. “We need to talk.”

“I know.” She sat up, piling the pillows behind her back. Her voice was low and husky.

He didn’t try to build up to it, simply saying it plain. “I have an issue with losing people I love.” He sat on the bed by her hip. “I lost you once. I don’t want to lose you again.”

She gathered the covers to her. “I know. I do, but I have my own set of issues, the major one being the people _I_ love refusing to let me do my job. You made the decision for me that day --”

“Didn’t you do the same?” He interrupted, peering at her closely, watching her face, studying the tiny changes in her expression as he continued. “You came in, announced you were going back out and that was that. You decided you were going and I asked you to stay, but you wouldn’t listen. You made a one-sided decision, too.”

Jo glanced away, like she hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I’m,” he pointed at himself, “not ready for you to be back out there. You may be ready, but I’m nowhere near there.”

“When?” She bit her lip, looked back at him. “When will you be ready, Dean, because I’m feeling left out here. I feel like I’m back at the Roadhouse watching the world go by. It’s not a good feeling. I hate feeling like that. I hate feeling the slightest bit of resentment because you get to go out and I don’t.”

He nodded. He’d thought about her feelings on hunting while he’d thought about the situation. “I know. I did a lot of thinking last night and I’ve got a proposal for you, one that I feel okay about and needs to be done anyway.” He’d done research in the wee hours and everything he’d found didn’t bring on the panic. This proposal was doable for him and he thought Jo would warm up to it.

“More computer work? Putting together files I can’t go out on? Thank you, no. What’s the point if I can’t do the actual job?”

“You gonna listen or complain before I even tell you what it is?”

She crossed her arms. “I’m listening.”

“I have to do this in small steps. I can’t deal with a jump into it. That panic attack I had indicates that. You ever had one? It’s as terrifying as anything we’ve ever faced in the field.”

Jo sighed. “Go on.”

“You and Gwen take the properties, the ones we found keys for. There’s plenty on the list, they’re all over the country so you’ll get to travel, and you’ll get to go through the contents of each, decide if we need to close down the property for whatever use it has or keep it. It’s not jobs in the traditional sense, but it’s important. Given how little all of us really know about the Campbell family, even Gwen, it’s damn important we figure them out. Jo, _this_ I can deal with. The thought of you going out on a case though?” He shook his head. “Starts the panic all over.”

“How long do I have to do that?”

“Maybe a month, maybe a year. I mean, you haven’t been out very long when you look back at it. You were still working while you were pregnant and in Battle Creek….”

“I tracked down a few cursed objects and sent other hunters out on them while I was pregnant. Only time I went out was Battle Creek and it ended up not being what we thought it was.”

“My point is, it’s not going to be forever. I know how much being in the field means to you and maybe I will eventually have to just white knuckle it to get over the hurdle, but will you please give me some more time to work through it?”

She bit her lower lip again, then nodded. “Yes.”

Dean reached for the folder he’d brought and set it on her lap. “You know you might like it, being nosy in all the things the Campbells stored away.”

“Papers, pictures, and old clothes.”

“Containment boxes, family secrets,” he suggested with a lift of his brows.

“You think so?” There was a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“I do. We haven’t come across one of their dumps yet. Even the compound didn’t have much there like that. There’s got to be one somewhere, as old as the family was, instead of all the miscellaneous crap we’ve been finding. You might hit the mother load.”

“We’ve been saying that about all the things you, Sam, and Gwen brought back from the compound and the things Arlene gave Gwen and what have we found?”

“Bits and pieces,” he conceded, “but the odds are in our favor that you’ll find something major and soon.” He could see the moment she decided to make the best of it: the slight lift of her chin, the deep breath, and the nod that followed.

“Okay, Dean. We’ll try this, but I’d like to reassess the situation every two to three months, see if we can push the envelope a little.”

“I can handle that.” He thought he could, too. Baby steps. Had to be baby steps.

Once she’d made up her mind to follow this path, she was a whirlwind of activity, talking Gwen into it like it had been her idea all along, and choosing a property that was just two states over. She made plans, laid out a route, and kept a close eye on him though he tried to tell her he was fine. This he was fine on. He had no twinge of that horrible panic he’d felt before.

Dean looked over their proposed route while Sam and Gwen did separate research. While he and Sam usually drove the back roads and he knew Jo and Gwen did as well, Jo was proposing the interstate system to cut down travel time. A concession for him to get her back sooner. He glanced along the map and gradually because aware of a rather rank smell, groaning inwardly when he realized what it was.

Jo turned from the printer, Jack cradled in one arm, a sheaf of papers in her free hand. Jack was making noises that indicated he was seconds from an ear-piercing outburst. “Dean, could you take him and change him for me?”

He could smell the full diaper from where he sat. Their son certainly had a talent in that department. “Rock-paper-scissors?”

She frowned. “Dean, I’m not playing rock-paper-scissors to decide which one of us is going to change our child. It’s your turn and I’m trying to work here.”

“Come on, Jo. One game.”

“No.” She dropped the papers on the table and held Jack out. He squirmed and fussed.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m a ton of fun, honey. That’s how we ended up with him to begin with.”

Sam and Gwen snickered, but both kept their eyes on the papers they were looking at.

“True, very true. You’re not willing to negotiate?”

“I’m not going to negotiate every time he needs changed.”

“Not one little negotiation?”

“Dean.”

“I hate the messy ones,” he informed her, getting up from his chair and reaching for a very smelly Jack.

Within four hours, Jo and Gwen were driving away in Gwen’s car, both looking relieved and happier than he’d seen both in awhile.

Sam came up the porch steps. “What’s the plan?”

“Thought we’d work on the panic room while they’re gone, get it finished up.”

“We’ve barely started on it. We can’t finish it in a couple days, especially with stopping to take care of Jack, and not with all that Bobby said to put in it.”

“Sure we can.” He grinned. “I called Ellen. She jumped at some ‘grandma time’. That should give us a good few hours to work.”

“She always has ‘grandma time’. It’s practically daily.”

Ellen picked Jack up an hour later, saying she’d bring him back in the evening. Dean and Sam got to work immediately after she left. When Jo called to say they were stopping for the night, Dean realized he hadn’t worried once. He thought that could count as progress.


	12. Chapter 12

Once Dean and Sam had actually started working on the panic room, it went together quickly. Ellen taking Jack for the rest of the day was a God-send towards getting the major work completed and together, he and Sam nearly finished it over the course of that day and the next.

With it almost completed, Dean took some time to show Bobby the picture of Nicki. All he got was a questioning stare and a ‘what, you think I know everyone?’ response. It did sometimes seem like Bobby knew everyone. His next step was check with Rufus, then start asking around the rest of the hunters he knew. Talking to the older ones was the best bet, he decided.

Rufus agreed to come out, not giving a timeline, though Dean expected him later rather than sooner.

He should have reversed that, because at dusk, there was a knock on the door. “Rufus. I wasn’t expecting you until --”

“You need floodlights.” He pointed in two directions. “There and there, light up the whole outside.” Next, he pointed to the camera over the door. “That thing on?”

“More or less.”

“Which is it? More? Or less?”

“Sam’s been working on it.” He’d been putting up the cameras he’d bought when they’d watched Gwen sleep and discovered the Alp. Dean adjusted Jack in his arms. “You want to come in or criticize the rest of our security?”

“Yes on both counts.” When Dean had been assured it was really Rufus and Rufus was on the couch drinking a cup of coffee, Rufus looked around. “Place is decent I guess. You got a panic room?”

“It’s in the works. Sam’s out getting more supplies. He’ll be back soon.” A little of this, of that, and some groceries.

“Needs to be done, Dean. The inclusion of baby boy there makes it a necessity. You need a safe room to put him in if you’re besieged. Haven’t you had anything run at you here? Usually the first thing that happens when you move in, like a christening ritual.”

“We’ve had two so far.” He explained, giving Jack a bottle as he did so. Jack kept a wary eye on Rufus.

“Trickster and an Alp? Never heard of an Alp, but I’d trust Chris. Good man. Kind of like how your daddy was -- focused and all.”

“You know Chris then?”

“Met him a couple times a long time ago when Sophie was about Jack’s age. She was the cutest little rugrat, too. Blond curls everywhere. Fullest head of hair on a baby I’d ever seen.” He set the coffee aside. “Where’re the two girls in the gang tonight?”

“Out at a Campbell property.”

“Property?”

He explained that too, watching the cynical gleam grow in Rufus’s eyes.

“Watch yourselves. When hunters keep lots of properties, there can be nasty reasons for it.” Rufus cleared his throat. “So…. What was so urgent I had to come by?”

“Let me put him down first.” He laid Jack in the pack and play. Jack fussed a minute, then became distracted by his own feet, kicking them. Dean returned to his chair and sat, stretching his legs out. “Sam and I ran into a woman at an auction. We think she might be a hunter. She alluded to it.”

“And you think I can i.d. her?”

“Sort of hoping you can.”

“What’d she do?”

“Said a few things caught my interest is all.”

“Name?”

“Called herself Nicki, but you and I both know it’s not necessarily her name. Had a man with her named Abe, called him her husband. You heard of them? Older couple?”

“Older than you or older than me?” He raised a brow.

“Than you. She had white hair, a swaggering attitude, and fit right in with the money crowd. Her husband didn’t. Looked like he didn’t exactly want to be there.”

“Nicki and Abe. Nicki and Abe. Nicki and…. You got a picture by chance?”

Dean pulled it up and handed his phone over.

Rufus squinted at it, then chuckled, a delighted grin splitting his features. “Hot damn, I thought she’d up and retired years ago!”

“Who is she?” He took his phone back.

“Veronica Bennett. Real classy dame. Got herself disinherited for marrying beneath her. _Way_ beneath her. She was born to old money and the prejudices that sometimes accompany that status.” He shook his head. “I thought she and Ham retired back in the eighties.”

“What happened?”

“You want to know all about ole Ronnie?”

Ronnie. The name a rang a bell in his mind. Someone had mentioned a ‘Ronnie’ recently. Who had it been and in what capacity? “Might as well. What’ve you got?” Dean reached for a pen and paper.

“Okay.” He freshened his coffee and came back to the couch. “Most of this is straight from her mouth, too. She got talkative one night and I was around to hear the whole story. Her maiden name was Martin, some sort of heiress. She met Ham and it was love and lust at first sight. He did a job for her daddy and she didn’t hesitate to run off with him over her family’s protests. She said it was a big scandal, one the whole town she grew up in talked about. The well-loved heiress marrying the lowly working man who was little more than a drifter. Anyway, her daddy cut her off, but relented enough later to say that if her marriage lasted so many years after his death, she’d get a small trust.”

“That’s a regular fairy tale.”

“Certainly is. Of course, our definition of small and his….”

“Worlds apart?”

“You know it, Dean. If she was smart, she rationed that money, invested, and made it last.”

“I take it you think she’s smart.”

“Not a doubt in my mind.” He gestured towards Jack. “She and Ham had a baby boy, like you and Jo. Apparently there were… _complications_ , at least that was the gist of what she talked about, and Ronnie couldn’t have any more kids. That boy was it for them.” He took a long drink of coffee. “Did I mention he was born with a caul?”

Dean glanced down at what he’d written so far, thinking about what a caul was supposed to mean. Visions and dreams and all the trouble that went with them. “Second sight. Did he have it?”

“She didn’t say anything about that, but the kid was freaky smart. Figured out things other hunters never had before, like how to combine protection spells and things for maximum coverage. God, how Ronnie bragged on him that night we talked! Kid could have written a reference book for hunters on things like that. Good at ferreting out the details.”

That sure sounded familiar. “Like Sam.”

“Maybe Sam’s mind on major steroids. Boy was a genuine genius. Ronnie was real proud of that. Not in good health though, like his mind compensated for what his body couldn’t deliver. Sickly child. Asthma, allergies. You name it he had it as a kid. Always sick with something.”

“You remember his name?”

Rufus snorted. “Nope. When you get to be my age, just learning something new pushes something old out the brain. I don’t know. I do know he died around,” he frowned as he thought, “oh, ‘80 or ‘81.”

Dean looked up and over at him. ‘80 or ‘81. No, it couldn’t be, could it? It wasn’t only Sam and Gwen who had Aaron on their minds, Dean realized as the wheels in his brain clicked a few facts into place. The year, and him being smart and good at research. Could fit. It could. A slight hope began to grow. “You’re sure it was then? ‘80 or ‘81?”

“Course I am. ‘81 I think. It coincided with….” His expression shifted and he quickly shook his head. “Well, that’s not important, just I think it was ‘81 when he died. It about destroyed Ronnie.”

Had the dress, in a roundabout way, led them to Aaron’s family? On the heels of that came another thought. Was that what Abigael had meant with that glitters line? The dress did glitter in the light from the beading and angels were cryptic in the best of times. Maybe she’d thought it was a good clue somehow. Or maybe she’d meant something else. He doubted they’d know unless they cornered her and interrogated her about it. However, sickly didn’t sound at all like Aaron, not from the picture he’d seen. Aaron hadn’t looked sick at all. He’d looked like a muscular guy. But maybe…. Some guys grew out of childhood sickness as they reached adulthood. It could have happened. 

“He was her pride and joy. That never changed even when they had their falling out with him and he walked out of their lives.”

“Falling out?”

“Over a woman, Ronnie said. He liked her, they didn’t. Ham delivered an ultimatum that didn’t go over well. Something like that. A piece of normal folks life. After his death, Ronnie and Ham cleaned out wherever he’d been living and disappeared a few months later. It was in those months she told me all this, like a sort of catharsis -- she _had_ to get it out to someone and Ham had his own way of grieving. She said the worst part was not knowing if the baby things they found there were from a grandchild they hadn’t known had been born or if it was stuff belonging to one of his friend’s kids.”

Bingo. Dean about laughed. Abigael had told Gwen the trail was right in front of her. Here it was. Damn. Maybe it wasn’t the trail she meant, but it _was_ a trail.

“I’d thought they retired when they disappeared, guess maybe I was wrong if you ran into her. Maybe they got tired of it or some object caught their eye.”

“Object?” Jack began to make fussing noises and Dean got up to check on him. He managed to wiggle the blanket off him and Dean covered him up before returning to his chair. He picked up the pen and paper again.

Rufus took a drink. “Mmm. Yeah, object. Ronnie and Ham only deal with cursed objects. Have ever since I’ve known about them.”

“She said she knew dad.”

He nodded slowly. “Possible. Could be they pursued the same object and Ronnie has a way with people. They like her. Those big dark brown eyes can pull a guy in, even when she’s bein’ a lyin’ bitch for the job. She remembers faces. Meets someone once and remembers them for life. Hell, I suspect the kid got a lot of his genius mind from her genes. Ronnie’s no dumb broad, but she can play one easy. Don’t underestimate her.”

“You ever meet Ham?”

“In passing. He’s easy to ignore. Ronnie was the face of their team, _is_ the face, though I think he must have been some sort of dashing back when she met him just to catch her eye.”

“No info on the Bennett family then?”

“Never cared enough to look into them. Ronnie though….” He made an appreciative clicking noise with his tongue. “Fine woman.”

Dean flipped to a fresh page on the notebook. “What about their son? You ever meet him before he died?”

“Yeah, once or twice. He and Bill Harvelle were thick as thieves for awhile. Too bad Bill’s gone or he could’ve given you the low-down on Ham and Ronnie’s boy.”

Excitement began to circle inside Dean and he suppressed a grin. While the sickly part didn’t fit, the rest did. He was right, wasn’t he? The flapper dress had led them to Aaron Carys’s parents, Gwen’s grandparents, both of whom were still alive -- an anomaly in their line of work, but something good for Gwen. At least he thought he’d found them. He’d do a bit more study into the matter before bringing it to Gwen’s attention. “Rufus, how long have you been a hunter?”

His glance fell on Jack. “Longer than I care to think about. Enjoy your family while you have them, Dean. Not all of us get the chance.”

Some day, he wanted to hear all of Rufus’s life story, but he suspected that day would never come. “You want to hold him?”

“Do I look like a baby person?”

“Maybe if I squint.”

“Pass. He is cute, though. Looks just like Jo.”

“Will you tell her that? She claims he looks like me.”

Rufus laughed.

He was gone before Sam returned and Dean worked on finding some information on Veronica Martin Bennett. He started in the state he and Sam had met her. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told them they’d have an easy time finding her once they tried. Very…interesting. As he read, he finally remembered who had mentioned a ‘Ronnie’ recently. It had been Ellen. On her message board was a user calling herself ‘Calamity Granny’.

Her name, Calamity Granny claimed, was Ronnie.

Dean grinned.

Gotcha.

He laid a trail he thought Calamity Granny would follow and sat back. He should know soon enough if she was taking the bait.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Your idea huh?” Gwen cast a glance at Jo, then adjusted her sunglasses against the sunny glare from the snow. The further north they went, the more snow was on the ground, from patches here and there, to a smooth white landscape. Typical this time of year.

Jo grinned. “Totally my idea.”

She laughed. “Liar.”

“Moi?” Jo pointed at herself and, after another laugh, sobered. “No, you’re right, it was Dean’s idea. I mean, after his panic attack, what else could I do? No way he could deal with --”

“Panic attack?” The car hit a patch of ice and swerved before Gwen managed to straighten it out. “When did that happen?”

“You didn’t know?”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“Sam didn’t tell you?”

“Obviously. He doesn’t tell me everything,” she protested, though he usually did, just like she knew Dean and Jo shared things with each other. She’d always thought it amazing how open Dean was with Jo on things, like he was afraid to leave anything remotely a secret.

“Sure he does. You two are always having these deep, spiritual discussions at two in the morning when normal people are asleep.”

“Hey! Are you saying we’re not normal, because,” she looked at Jo a moment over the rims of her sunglasses, “that’s like the pot and the kettle.”

“I’ll rephrase it then. How about when ‘most people’ are asleep?”

“Better and he really doesn’t tell me everything, Jo. Not all the time. I wonder if that was what he wouldn’t tell me right after they got back. It was something serious about Dean and why they kept traveling.”

“That was it.” 

Jo said it with a certainty and Gwen nodded. “Okay. So is he okay then?”

“He will be…as long as I don’t push too hard for field work.”

“Hence our road trips to get this list of properties finished.”

“Hence.” Jo reached into the bag at her feet and brought out the envelope with the information. As she opened it and started looking through the papers, Gwen thought about what they’d learned so far.

The property they were checking out this time was, according to the satellite photo off of Bing maps, a large structure that reminded Gwen of the compound and stirred a faint memory in the back of her mind -- nothing concrete, just a half-buried hazy memory that wouldn’t come in to focus fully. Maybe not as big as the compound Dean had met them all in, but certainly good sized. It was a single structure that they could tell, surrounded by trees, and had a long driveway that might be impassable from snow. She and Jo had both packed their winter hiking boots and coats.

A quick inquiry had told them that the property taxes were paid and current. Gwen wondered where the account was that was giving the necessary taxes and rents to the various properties and how soon until it ran out of money. Another reason for the sense of urgency Jo had imparted to their trip. It’d be a disaster if one of the rented properties was opened up for non-payment and the things inside were sold or thrown out or if one of the owned properties was sold for back taxes. Bad things could be released back into the world. There hadn’t been a Campbell making obvious payments on anything for awhile. Was everything on that list on automatic payments? Gwen hoped so and hoped the account had plenty in it to cover things for awhile.

Why hadn’t Neal and Patricia ever told her any of this? Why hadn’t they mentioned properties? For that matter, why hadn’t anyone else?

Honestly though, she wouldn’t have put it past Christian to have known and thought it was only something certain individuals, namely he and he alone, were entitled to know about. If he had known, it meant there was a chance some demon somewhere also knew about them.

“What’s wrong,” Jo asked.

Gwen shook her head. “Christian was possessed.”

“And?” Her tone indicated she wasn’t following Gwen on that.

“Oh, I was thinking that out of all the Campbell kids, Christian might have been the one to know about the properties. He did have the archives after dad died. Not a stretch that dad told him about the properties, too. The problem is that he was possessed. If he knew about them --”

“Then so did the demon the demon in him worked for,” she mused. “You could be right.”

“We could walk in to a trap.” She had no proof on that, but it was fun to speculate.

A slow smile stretched Jo’s lips. “I bet Dean never thought of that scenario. If he had, I can guarantee you we wouldn’t be on our way out right now.”

They stopped earlier than they usually did and started a bit later in the morning, finding the town by late afternoon. After a drive-through to study it and a quick drive out to where the driveway to the property was, they found a motel and checked in.

Gwen called Sam while Jo took a long shower. “How goes the panic room,” she asked.

“Pretty much done. All that’s left is adding some furniture and a few extra touches. I think Dean wants to out-do Bobby’s panic room, like I‘‘s a competition.”

“He’ll have a hard time doing that. Bobby thought of everything.”

“By the time Dean’s done, so will he. He’s wanting a generator, a mini fridge, and microwave in there now.”

“All the comforts of home.” And how much of that was just to tease Sam? “Can’t wait to see it.” She thought she heard Jack making noises close to the phone and frowned. “Sam? What am I hearing?”

“I’m giving Jack a bottle while Dean takes measurements downstairs.”

She could picture it in her head and smiled. Sam holding the baby was a sweet picture and one she’d never get tired of. Once he’d relaxed, he’d gotten fairly comfortable with Jack quickly. It had only taken a couple days for him to be feeding and changing him like a pro.

“You get out to the property yet?”

“Did a drive-by. Looks like the drive is partially cleared, but we’re going to have to hike the rest of the way in. The trees around the property are just as thick as we thought, too.”

“Well, be careful.”

“You know me.”

“Yeah, I said be careful, Gwen.”

She laughed. “Man, you and Jo are both ganging up on me lately. I’m careful. We’ll be fine.”

They chatted for a short while longer, until Jo was done with her shower and Sam said Dean was bellowing for him.

Jo emerged from the bathroom. She’d put on a whole new set of clothes and braided her wet hair. “I feel warmer now.” She gestured at the phone, then sat and reached for her boots. “How are things back home? Panic room done yet?”

“Just about. Dean’s adding finishing touches.”

“Throw pillows and a couple pretty lamps?”

Gwen snorted. “More like a mini-fridge and microwave. I think if he could put magic fingers on the cot he wants in there he’d do that too.”

“And probably a pantry cupboard filled with snacks, as well.” She reached for her coat. “Let’s go have dinner and meet the natives.”

“You are rarin’ to go, aren’t you?” Gwen got her own coat and they left the motel.

~~~~~~~~~~

The town was sweet in a way that reminded Jo of Norman Rockwell prints and the town Castiel had first discovered her in. It didn’t make her nostalgic. Near as they could figure out, the last time anyone had been out at the building had been 2010. One woman they talked to in the town office remembered the ‘charming bald man’ who’d stopped by and chatted with her about it.

“Samuel,” Gwen said once they were out on the sidewalk walking towards the car. “The bald man was Samuel, though I’d take issue with the charming part of her description. I didn’t find him particularly charming at times. Bossy maybe, old-fashioned, but not charming.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Checking it out, I guess. Maybe eliminating it for a compound location? Looking for something? Who knows. Could’ve been a million reasons he was out here.”

“Makes this property a bit more interesting knowing he was here last.”

Gwen grunted as they got into the car, but didn’t reply. 

The drive to the location was pleasant. While the day was cold, it was pretty up there, though isolated. They pulled into the drive as far as they could and got out, grabbing a few things like guns and flashlights. Jo had her knife inside her jacket in a sheath Dean had had specially made for her.

The top crust of the snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked up the rest of the drive. They came to a fence stretched across it, a ‘no trespassing’ sign prominent on it. From above came a cawing sound and Jo looked up, not seeing the bird that had made it. Rather than try and open it, they climbed over it and continued onward. The driveway from that gate had to be at least a quarter of a mile long Jo decided. Quite a haul from the road itself and nicely isolated.

She stopped, turned in a slow circle, and studied the area. Wooded heavily enough that there was protection from the road, but not so much along the driveway. The trees and bushes were more sparse along that line.

“What?” Gwen stopped walking. “You see something?”

“No, just looking.”

They walked the last stretch, a curved portion, and the building was in view. It was what she’d expected from the satellite picture. Big, rectangular, grey, and depressing as heck in the winter daylight. There was a wide barn door on the long wall facing the drive, a smaller, average door on one short end, and no windows that weren’t boarded up. The wide door had a padlock. The key they had fit the regular door.

Inside, it smelled musty and moldy. Most of all, it smelled _abandoned_. There was a bank of small rooms flanking the door, four on either side down a hallways that led to another door. This one was unlocked. Jo and Gwen went through it, shining their lights all around. At one end were a few old cars old enough to be collector’s dreams if they were in good condition, like a model ‘T’, and a wagon with two broken wheels. Directly behind the vehicles was a wall all the way to the ceiling and another door that Jo bet went to an exact replica of this end of the building.

The large room was cavernous. When Jo raised her light upwards, she saw rafters at the ceiling.

“Let’s look in the little rooms first,” Gwen suggested.

One room was lined with shelves. Items glittered in glass jars and Jo saw a few little wooden boxes with symbols on them that made her smile. Finally. They’d found something. Each room had items of interest in them. After a cursory examination of all eight small rooms, they walked around the edge of the large room, hugging the wall to the other end. It turned out she’d been almost right. There were more rooms at that end, though they were larger and set up like a house, with a living area, dining room and kitchen on the lower level and four bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Most of the furniture was still there, beat-up, and a mish-mash of styles.

Jo took two of the bedrooms and when she was done, found Gwen still in a third, sitting on the lid of a wooden trunk, holding a doll in her hands. She looked troubled, staring at that doll and frowning. “Gwen? What is it?”

“This was my doll.” She gestured to the left. “Those were my toys. Mom told me they’d gotten lost in the move. I remember that. She went out and bought me new ones because I was so upset.”

The beam from her flashlight found a small table that still had crayons and a moldy coloring book on it, and a set of Tinker toys. There were other shapes on the floor, other toys laid out there, and Jo moved her light back to Gwen. “You’re sure?”

“We lived in a few different places when I was little. I don’t…. I don’t remember this one as a whole, but I remember the doll, the toys, and the mural. How old was I? Six maybe? Five? Very young.”

“Mural?”

Gwen turned her flashlight onto the wall. The letters ‘G’ and ‘C’ were painted like letters from a medieval book in Bobby’s collection. Fancy. Someone had taken a lot of time and care to do that. A lot of love.

“Who was the painter?”

“Mom. She liked doing things like that and didn’t have the time usually, but for me she did.” With a sigh, she set the doll down. “Nice pick for a property Jo.”

“Seemed like a good idea from the satellite pics.”

“Well, this is definitely a Campbell property.”

“We’ll mark it down. Wonder what Samuel was after here? Something in one of those storage rooms maybe?”

Gwen stood. “If usual methods hold, we’ll find a trapdoor to a lower level somewhere in the main room, something not obvious.”

But they didn’t find the trapdoor. The wooden floor creaked ominously as they walked back and forth across it.

“Are you sure there’s a trapdoor?” Jo turned her back to Gwen, sweeping her light across the floor. She saw no sign of a trapdoor. “Are you sure there’s another level?”

“We always had things like that. Maybe the entrance is in another area? I suppose there could be a whole basement under this.”

Jo heard a crack and gasp, the floor heaving beneath her feet. When she looked back, Gwen was gone, a hole in the floor where she’d been standing. “Gwen? You okay?” Dust billowed upwards. “Gwen?”

She directed the light all over the hole that had appeared in the floor, but there was no sign of her anywhere. She should have been either prone on the earthen floor or getting up and cussing up a storm. Gwen should have been straight down and she wasn’t. She simply wasn’t there anymore. Where had she gone? What the hell was going on?

She took a step closer to the edge. The old floor protested and Jo felt a sickening lurch as it gave way beneath her feet.

Strong arms went around her, dragging her against a body that was too hot, and saving her from falling through the floor as that section slid into the darkness below. She was whirled bodily to face away from the hole and set down, pushed forward so hard that she stumbled against the wall. Jo reached inside her coat for her knife and drew it out, pushing from the wall, turning to face her attacker, ready to fight.…

No one was there. There was no man, no person at all.

“You son of a bitch, where did you go?”

Her flashlight made wild arcs about the room, catching no second person there.

But there had been. The arms around her had been real, the heat of the body, the strong shove she’d been given. Who had saved her from falling through the floor and where had he gone? No way he could have escaped so quickly without her having heard him at least. The floor in this drafty old building creaked something terrible.

“Come out, you bastard!”

Her heart pounded hard in her chest and her breaths were loud.

She heard the fluttering of wings in the upper stretch of the huge room, a thing that was strange at this time of year. It was winter. Bird activity should be next to nothing. Jo stared upwards, training her light there. She thought she saw a black large bird flying about, yet couldn’t get a good look at it.

Jo took cautious steps towards the newest hole in the floor, looking down, shining the light there. Below where she’d stood was a mess of wood and what looked like old traps of some kind. Rusty, spiky metal. If she’d fallen, she would have been killed. She gulped.

“Gwen? Answer me, damn it!”

She explored the rest of the building again, looking for signs of Gwen. There were both their footsteps in the dust, but no others. There was still no sign of her, like she’d ceased to exist. She was just gone. All the while Jo had searched, she’d felt as though someone was there watching her.

Damn, Jo thought. She was going to have to call Dean and Sam.

Not the way she’d wanted her first trip out to go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen had a fraction of a second to hear the creak and feel the floor give and then she was falling, hitting the earthen ground of the basement hard. Dust ballooned up into the air. Gwen coughed, dragging her jacket over her face, trying not to breathe it in.

I found a way into the basement, she thought. Not an exactly an ideal entrance.

The scent was of decay, a putrid mix of rot and earth.

Slowly, she tried to sit, gingerly testing herself, making sure nothing was broken. She was able to raise up onto her elbows, but her right wrist gave a twinge of pain when she tried to put pressure on it to sit. She peered at her wrist. Sprained maybe, she decided, then looked at her equipment, blinking until she could focus on them long enough to check them. Her vision was moving from focused to unfocused and back to focused. Not good. Her camera and phone were both smashed from the fall and her gun was gone. 

She pressed a hand to her forehead and laid back again. Another minute. She’d take another minute and then try to sit up again. Gwen closed her eyes. She thought she might have a concussion from the fall. 

Where was Jo? Why wasn’t she right there at the edge calling down to her? Had something happened? Under normal circumstances, Jo would be already calling to her, trying to make sure Gwen was okay. Where was she?

A shadow fell over her and she looked up from the hole and into the room. Her vision wasn’t cooperating, everything going all blurry, but one thing she knew. The figure standing at the edge wasn’t Jo. 

The figure was a man.

She lost consciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

Jo sat in the car, staring at her phone. Dean or Sam? Who did she call? Dean would freak out because he’d think it could have been her and Sam would freak out because Gwen was missing. She gritted her teeth and dialed Dean.

“What’s up,” he asked instead of a standard greeting.

“We’ve had a tiny little setback.” That was one way of putting it.

“What’s that mean?” She could hear his frown over the phone. “I thought you found the place.”

“We did.”

“And you got in okay?”

“Sure.”

“Did you find anything of interest?”

“You could say that.”

“So what’s the snag?” He sounded puzzled and she definitely had his attention.

She swallowed hard and stared out the windshield at the drive. “Well…. The floor in the main room collapsed and when it did, Gwen disappeared like she went through a black hole.”

“Repeat that.”

“Gwen’s missing, Dean. She went poof in like two seconds. I can’t find her anywhere on the property.”

“You searched the building?”

“Twice and I gotta tell you, it’s damn creepy in there. All the windows are boarded up, sound carries, and if she was still there, I should have heard her.”

“How long ago?”

Jo flicked a glance at her watch. “About an hour by now. There’s no sign of her.”

He was quiet a moment. “Okay. We’ll be there within twenty-four hours.”

“Dean --”

“We’re coming, Jo.”

“What about Jack?”

He didn’t answer her question. “Sit tight. We’ll be there soon.”

Jo hoped her mother would understand Dean and Sam leaving Jack with her. She sat for awhile longer, phone in hand, then tried Gwen’s phone. It went to voicemail. While Jo hated to leave the immediate vicinity, she needed to check their motel and maybe ask around town too. She spent the next hours doing just that, and searching the property one more time just in case she’d missed something.

She hadn’t and it was with a heavy heart that she returned to the motel for the night. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Missing. Gwen had gone missing within seventy-two hours of them leaving the house. Well, wasn’t that just fine and dandy? Gwen and Jo just seemed to find trouble wherever they went -- just like old times. He supposed he should feel lucky it wasn’t Gwen calling to say that Jo had gone missing, but all he felt was a dropping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He was going to need to tell Sam.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger and got up, going into the front lower room that connected to Sam and Gwen’s room. While it still had a bunch of boxes stacked along one wall, Sam had been busy laying out toys and things for Jack to play with and was on the floor with him, trying to get him interested in one toy that was supposed to be good for babies up to six months.

Sam glanced up at him. “Who was that?”

“Jo.” He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, trying to decide just what to tell him. Something that wouldn’t have him charging out after her without any planning, but would evoke the sense of urgency needed to get there quickly.

“What’s up?”

“She and Gwen need us there.” He decided not to tell Sam that Gwen had disappeared just yet. He’d wait until they were on the way.

Sam eyed him, then picked up Jack and stood. “Ellen and Bobby are both gone, Dean. You sure that’s an ‘us’? Do they need both of us? I could go alone.”

He was right. Ellen and Bobby had left that morning to go after a wraith in Oregon and wouldn’t be back for several days. Ellen had sounded practically giddy at the prospect of a wraith, too. Dean thought a long moment, staring at Sam holding Jack. Jodie would be glad to take him, but she’d have to use a sitter during her work hours. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving Jack with Jodie or a strange sitter. Family friend or not, he didn’t trust Jodie to take all of the precautions. He didn’t trust anyone except family to take the precautions.

“Dean?” 

He made a snap decision he never thought he’d make. They’d have to take Jack with them. “Let me take him.” He held out his hands, took Jack and carried him over to his carrier. “Go up and grab a pack of diapers and wipes and a few changes of clothes for him while I get the rest of his things packed up.”

“You’re sure?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply and no sound came out. His hands faltered in securing Jack so he could pack. 

Did he need to go? Could Sam go by himself and Dean stay behind with Jack? He considered all the factors in a swirl of thought, realizing right then that he knew how his dad had felt, really knew at this moment. The agony of wondering if he was doing the right thing. The fear that he wasn’t. The nervousness that something could go wrong. Dean had never understood the depths of the indecision and pain John Winchester had likely felt taking his children with him as he’d traveled. He’d thought he’d felt some of that before, but he hadn’t. Jack was his son, his only child. The future. It would hurt him in a way he’d never been hurt if something happened to Jack. 

But he didn’t have to go. Sam could go alone, meet up with Jo, and search for Gwen. 

What if Gwen was deeply injured and they needed to lift her out of the area beneath the building? Sam would need him there to help. Jo was strong for her size, but she wasn’t strong enough. She wouldn’t be able to aid Sam in raising Gwen up from the lower part of that building in that case. He could always stay back at the motel, let Sam and Jo investigate further and hand Jack off to Jo if the scenario erupted where his physical strength was needed.

It wasn’t an ideal plan. In fact, it was a downright crappy plan, taking his son into potentially dangerous territory. Ideal would be Bobby and Ellen taking him. With them gone, it was either Dean stay home and not be there if they needed him or Dean go and take Jack along but be there if he was needed.

Dear God, let this be the friggin’ right thing, he thought.

“Dean?”

“We’re going. You’ll investigate with Jo. I’m just the chauffeur, errand boy, and extra muscle if you need me.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You mean Jo and Gwen. What did Jo say?” There was a slight edge of suspicion to his voice, like he’d realized Dean hadn’t told him the entire story. Probably, he’d realized it.

“We need to get moving,” he insisted, gesturing towards the stairs. When Sam had gone up the stairs, Dean rubbed his thumb gently along Jack’s cheek. “Baby’s first hunt. Damn.” He bent and pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Too soon.” 

Running down a mental checklist, much like he and Jo had that first trip out after Jack’s birth, Dean packed for Jack. It was far easier now, as he packed by routine, knowing just what they’d need. He packed his own things and while Sam was busy packing for himself, he gave Jack a quick bath, changed him, and got him ready for a long trip, talking to him all the while.

Within an hour, they were ready.

Sam put his bag in the trunk. “How can one baby’s things take up more space in the trunk than two grown men’s bags?” He shook his head. “This trunk holds bodies, Dean. There should be more than enough room.”

“It’s just the way it is. Get in.”

He locked up the house, sent a text to Jo that they were leaving, and got in the car.

Sam was slipping his phone back into his pocket. “That’s strange.”

“What is?”

“Gwen still hasn’t answered the text I sent her and her phone goes to voicemail.”

Dean glanced at him and started the Impala. He waited until they were nearly an hour out before telling Sam about Gwen and he didn’t bother sugar-coating it either. “You were wondering about the urgency….”

“Yeah, what’s going on? What’d they find?”

“It’s not about what they found, but what’s missing. Gwen disappeared in the building. Happened about three hours ago by now. We’re driving all night with a brief stop now and then for us and Jack. We’ll get there. We’ll find her.”

An alarmed frown tugged Sam’s brow down. “What happened?” He shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll call Jo, you just…. Floor it, Dean.”

They made it in record time. Jo opened the door and helped them bring their things in, kissing Dean before taking Jack from his carrier and holding him like doing so comforted her. She didn’t seem surprised to see Jack and he wondered if she’d called Ellen. Dean concentrated on setting up the pack and play while Jo and Sam talked.

“I looked, Sam, I did. I was all over that building several times.” Jo hugged Jack against her.

“The floor caved in? Are you sure she wasn’t trapped under rubble?”

“Yes. There wasn’t enough rubble to crush her, just floorboards and she should have fallen straight down. I swear to you, she’s not there or if she is, I can’t see her.”

“Okay.” There was a hint of panic in Sam’s voice, but he was holding himself together much better than Dean had expected he would. Either that or he was taking a page from Dean’s book and shoving his feelings deep down inside him. Dean suspected the latter was closer to the truth. “Come sit at the table and start at your arrival in town. Walk me through it.”

She glanced at Dean and joined Sam at the table. “We arrived, got the room, had some dinner, made sure we could find the place and got a good night’s sleep. Got up in the morning, had breakfast, did a little research at the town offices. Samuel was here in 2010 sometime to look the place over. Gwen was less than thrilled to hear that.”

“Go on.”

“We drove out to the property, hiked up the drive.” She rested her cheek against Jack’s. “We went inside, found eight tiny rooms flanking the end door, all with articles of interest in them, then went in the large central room. It’s like a barn, with rafters at the ceiling. A couple antique cars at one end and a broken wagon. Dean?” She turned in her chair. “Would you take him for me? I need my hands free.”

He took Jack, put him in the portable crib while he heated up a bottle and listened in on the conversation.

Jo took a yellow legal pad from the stack of papers on the table. Quickly, she sketched some lines. The layout, Dean realized as she spoke. “We went here to this end and looked around. It was like an apartment. Two levels.” More drawing before she turned the notebook so Sam could see it.

“A compound.” Sam pulled the notebook closer. “A different set-up to the one Dean and I were familiar with, but…similar. Interesting.”

“Gwen found some of her old toys and a mural on one bedroom wall that Patricia painted.”

“She’d lived there? And she didn’t remember it?”

“She said she was really little, like five or six. Didn’t remember the building really, just the things we found. The place looks like they left in a hurry. Furniture is still all there, various other belongings. They locked it and left.”

Dean wondered why. Had they been attacked or been anticipating an attack?

“Anyway, we were looking for the way into the basement when the floor caved. Gwen disappeared. I heard her gasp and that was it. I would have gone down, too, if not for an invisible rescuer. Someone grabbed me and shoved me away from the second section as it fell.”

“Someone,” Dean interrupted.

“Someone,” she confirmed. “I felt hands and arms, a body that was really hot in temperature, but when I turned, there wasn’t anyone there, nor did anyone answer me.”

“What else?” Sam slid the notebook aside, garnering Jo’s attention again. “The slightest detail, Jo. Anything. Noises? Smells? A strange shadow?”

“I know how this debriefing works, Sam, and I was getting to it. There _was_ something strange. A large bird. I heard it on the way up the drive and thought I saw it flying up in the rafters after Gwen disappeared. Odd for this time of year. Didn’t see it again, though. Haven’t.”

“Bird.” Sam went very still. “Gwen disappeared practically without a sound. That sounds like…altered reality and there was a large bird. What kind of bird? Crow maybe? What do we know that can alter reality like that and transforms into a crow?”

“Trickster,” Dean supplied.

“You think it’s the Trickster,” Jo asked. 

“Fits.” Dean picked up Jack and brushed the nipple of the bottle against his mouth. He latched on to it like he was starving. “He’s got a hard-on for Gwen, too. If he’s got it too bad for her, he might resort to kidnapping.”

Jo crossed her arms on the table top. “Abigael wiped his memory and dropped him back in Las Vegas.”

Sam sat back in his chair. “True. But he’s not human. Would his mind be like a human mind? It’d have to be different, wouldn’t it? To be capable of doing what he does?”

“So how do we find her if he’s got her?”

“Patience,” Dean suggested and received sour glances from both of them. “We can look all we like, but if he’s got her…. The truth is, all we can do is wait, unless either of you wants to bother Cas with this?”

“Last resort,” Sam told him. “We’ll go over that building again tomorrow and if we don’t find her soon…then we call for Cas to try and locate her.” 

Dean tried to stay out of it, but when three days went by, he stepped in. Jo would stay back at the motel with Jack while Dean went with Sam, a fresh pair of eyes to help search the building one more time before they called for Castiel.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen woke in bed. She was in the motel room. It was quiet and in that quiet, she thought she heard a voice, faintly calling out. “Jo?” She sat up. Her head ached and she was sore all over. Something wasn’t right, she knew it, but what?

The door opened, Sam coming in carrying a paper bag. He paused before closing the door. “Hey, you’re awake. You had us worried.”

“Us?” She touched a hand to her forehead. “Where’s Dean? Or Jo?”

“Uh…” He set the bag down and shrugged off his jacket. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Dean and Jo are taking turns cataloguing the contents of the building. One watches the baby while the other goes out.”

The baby. Sam no longer called Jack that. He used his name. “You brought Jack with you?”

A slight satisfied smile twitched his lips. “We did. We brought…Jack.”

“Why not leave him with Ellen or Bobby?”

Sam turned away, setting the bag in his hand on the dresser. “You hungry?”

“A little.” Try a lot. Her stomach was growling. Gwen tossed the covers off of her. “Where’s my robe?” She’d swear she’d brought it with her.

“Haven’t seen it. Sure you remembered to bring it?” He opened the bag and brought out a take-out container. 

Whatever was in it smelled good and she reached for her clothes at the end of the bed, pulling them on in quick jerks. The room was rather cold, goose bumps stripling her skin. Had the heat quit working? “Thought I did. Is that for me?”

He took it to the table and set it down, opening it. “Steak tips with red potatoes, gravy, and green beans.” Another container was brought out. “Rolls and butter.”

Gwen ate slowly, studying him and the room as she did so. He was watching her, staring while she ate in a way Sam never did because he thought it was rude. Her heartbeat quickened and after she finished the food, she got up from the table, casually moving to her bag and looking through it. Her gun was missing and she remembered it had been gone after she’d fallen. “So…” She moved to place the table back between them. “Who are you?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m Sam.”

“You’re not.”

His concerned expression was a fraction too late to be real. “You hit your head pretty hard, Gwen. We think you have a concussion.”

The tone, the facial expressions…it was all wrong. “Sam never stares at me like that and if he did, he’d make damn sure I didn’t notice, so why don’t we cut the crap and you tell me who the hell are you and what you want from me?”

His eyes narrowed, head tilting a fraction to one side as he studied her. “That was quicker than I thought. Bravo.”

Before she could ask, he clapped his hands together once. Darkness surrounded her and she felt dirt beneath her hands before she scrambled to her feet. The air was cold, much colder than the last place. In gradual degrees, a landscape appeared, the road that went by their house. She was standing in the middle of it and there, ahead not too far, she could see the lights from the house. Gwen started walking.

The Impala wasn’t in the driveway, but her car was. She touched it as she went by. It felt real, solid. Had she blacked out? Had she lost a chunk of time? She recalled being in that building with Jo and the floor opening up beneath her feet. She remembered the man looking down at her and false Sam.

Gwen went up the steps and, after a moment of hesitation, she stepped into the house. Inside, it was warm and she smelled garlic and tomato sauce. Music was playing softly, one of Sam’s favorite bands. She stepped towards the couch. He was there, stretched out, in sweats and a t-shirt, reading.

Sam looked up. “You’re back early. I thought you were trying a nighttime run.”

A glance down at herself revealed that she was indeed dressed in winter running clothes, but ones she didn’t remember buying. “Sam, how long ago did Jo and I go out?”

“About two weeks, why?” He put the book aside and sat up, making room for her to sit down. “What’s wrong?”

She sat. “Where did the time go?”

“What do you mean? We worked on the building, found a few things Dean was excited about, then came back here.”

“I mean I don’t remember it.”

They talked and just when she began to get comfortable, he looked at her in a way that sent a burst of sheer wrongness through her. With a clap of his hands, the scene dissolved into nothingness and a new one appeared. Over and over and over again.

The scenarios became more elaborate, detailed, filled in. He took on personal issues, most specifically children. Sam didn’t want a baby. She did, but he didn’t. He was hardly ready for that, so when he began talking about his changed feelings on the matter, she knew it wasn’t him she was talking to. It was the imposter. The imposter didn’t seem to get that Sam had major issues with the subject of children of his own blood. Sam was concerned his ‘taint’ as he put it would pass on and doom an innocent child. He didn’t mean the archangel vessel part, but rather the demon blood. Gwen understood that. She knew it’d take something drastic to change his mind.

It was the main way she knew it was the imposter. He kept talking about the one thing Sam didn’t talk about. Children.

Every time Gwen realized she wasn’t talking to Sam, he clapped his hands once and the scene shifted around her. Who did she know who did that, or rather _what_ did she know?

The Trickster.

He was here. He’d followed them and trapped her. She hoped he hadn’t hurt Jo. If he had, there was no place on earth he could hide from Dean.

Gwen had to admit he was good at mimicry. He’d obviously studied them enough to make things realistic, yet he couldn’t quite get Sam right. His stare was all wrong, lacking the warm tender concern Sam usually displayed for her and, with a jolt, Gwen recognized the expression. It was the one soulless Sam had used when trying to pretend he felt things. He’d stare too hard, attempting to find the nonverbal clues to react to and logically deduce just how he was supposed to react. Before she’d known he was soulless, she’d thought Sam had something like Asperger’s Syndrome and filed it away as normal and quirky in a dark way.

The Trickster was gauging her reactions to each version, using her reactions to perfect it. She needed to stop reacting, but how did she do that when she was having trouble keeping calm?

His stares made sense in a way. The Trickster was a monster. Cold, calculating, capricious in his idea of justice, and morally off anyway. His version of Sam would be the same while he figured Sam out.

She yawned, her entire body shaking with it. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remain awake and she wondered how long she’d been his prisoner. She knew she could go a couple days without sleep, but not much longer. It felt like she’d about reached that limit.

Two days. What was going on outside wherever he had her? Was Jo alive and worried? Had she called in Dean and Sam?

A bed appeared, the only place to sit beside the floor of this barren room she was currently in. Gwen sat. She knew she needed rest in order to keep fighting him, yet to do so would leave her vulnerable to him. Quite the conundrum, she said to herself and closed her eyes.

He was taking good care of her, despite holding her prisoner. He made sure she’d had some decent food, though the last two meals hadn’t been eaten before she’d seen it wasn’t Sam with her.

She barely noticed she was lying down until she opened her eyes and saw ceiling straight ahead. Just off to the side, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the Trickster in his natural form watching her…. Gwen fell asleep.

When she woke, she was in the motel room. Again. She pushed to sit. This time, it looked right. The covers on the second bed were jumbled, there was a portable crib beside it, and Jo’s robe was crumpled at the end of the bed with one of Dean’s shirts and several baby-sized articles of clothing. 

The bed she was on was fairly neat. Sam’s bag was beside her own by the wall and she thought she could smell the faint scent of Sam’s aftershave. She was the only one in the room. Gwen shoved the covers off of herself and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was in her winter pajamas, the ones Sam didn’t like because they covered too much of her and the only pair she’d brought with her. Slowly, Gwen got up and walked to the table. While it was piled with papers, all the sort of mess they made in a room, one was set in the center, a note scrawled on it in Jo’s handwriting.

__

‘Gwen, Out at the building packing it up. Food in fridge. Call when you wake up. --Jo’

She found a box of cereal, milk, and some jars of fruit in the fridge nestled among takeout Chinese, pizza, fast food containers, and baby bottles. Very much like home. The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction and Gwen fixed herself a bowl of cereal, eating slowly while she looked for anything out of place. 

Please, let this be real, she thought. I’m too tired to keep this up for long by myself.

Slowly, she reached for her phone and dialed. “Jo, hi.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

Jo’s voice sounded right. “Exhausted.”

“Don’t doubt you are. After battling the Trickster for four days.”

“Battling?”

“He trapped you remember? You do remember, right?” Her voice was muffled and she heard Jo tell Sam to go back to the motel and check on Gwen. “I’m sending Sam back to the room.”

“No, Jo, I’m fine --”

“You’re not fine if you don’t remember that. Sam’ll be back in a bit. Rest until he gets there.”

“I remember, I do, but….”

“But what? Gwen, what’s wrong?”

She bit her lip. Did she say anything? “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing. What?”

“Everything looks normal, but how do I know I’m free of him?”

“Do you see anything out of place?”

“Nothing.”

“Then you must be free, right? Look, you killed him. We all saw his body. Ask Sam when he gets there. Go through it all with him.”

“I think I will.” 

Unlike previous scenes, it took time for Sam to arrive and when he did, he came straight to her. “What’s wrong?” His hands gripped her arms, then released her so he could take off his coat. “Come here and talk to me. Jo said I needed to come back?”

The concern she saw almost undid her composure and she let him draw her close. They sat together on the edge of the bed. “I don’t remember killing him.”

“You did. His body was there.”

“It could have been his avatar, a trick.”

“You’re free of him, Gwen. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.” His hand took hers. “We can get on with life.”

The hope that this was real died as she noticed a flare of calculation in his eyes. While Sam sometimes did have that, it was all wrong for the moment. No way he’d look at her like that. Gwen drew away, snatching her hand back from his. He tried to tighten his grip at the last second. She stood, backing away. “You’re not Sam.”

“Of course I am, Gwen. I’m Sam.”

“You’re not Sam and none of this is real.”

“How do you know? I mean really? How can you tell?” He stood up. “What makes you think I’m not Sam?”

“I _know_. You’re the Trickster.” At his clap, the scene changed. She was still in the building, down in the basement section, and she felt exhausted, like she hadn’t had much sleep despite knowing she’d slept. It hadn’t been a restful sleep. “What do you want from me?”

“Are you afraid, Gwen? Are you terrified…darling?” On the last word, he morphed into the Trickster, abandoning the Sam disguise. “Feel like reality is slipping away?” he made a motion with one hand.

She blinked several times and took a step back from him.

“Imagine a world where you’re never sure if it’s him or me with you. Think very carefully on that. I can make it happen. I _will_ make it happen. As you can see, I’m getting very good at pretending to be Sam. I’m a fast study and you…and he…have given me plenty of material to work with. Especially Sam. You should hear him up there, searching with Jo, calling out for you. Then back in the motel room, the way they talk…. I’ve plenty of pieces of all of them now to make a nice little world for you.” 

His satisfied smile was chilling and she knew he had every intention of going through with that threat if…. What? What did he want?

“Let’s chat, darling. We have quite a few things to discuss.”

The air seemed colder, the light a bit murkier and Gwen shivered. It was never a good thing when monsters wanted to chat.


	14. Chapter 14

Gwen took another step back from him. She had limited space to maneuver. Floorboards from above littered the earthen ground and behind her were jagged pieces of rusty metal, traps of some kind. “What do you want,” she repeated.

“At first, I wanted to tease you. You laughed at my jokes and I’m all about brunettes with a sense of humor. Something Sam and I share, I think.”

“You and Sam are nothing alike.”

He bristled a little at that, his stare going even colder than it already was. “Meeting a woman who knows what I am and still laughs? Doesn’t happen often. Most women who know the truth don’t dare laugh. It’s the fearless ones who do and that’s a mating call of sorts to my kind. You got my attention, but I determined I had time before I needed to buckle down and really woo you from Sam.” He circled her, pausing behind her to lean close to her ear. “I could, you know.”

She jerked away, stumbling a bit on the boards.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve swept a girl off her feet and stolen her from a human male.” 

Gwen rolled her eyes a little. He definitely had pride to think he could take her from Sam. “Quite an ego you’ve got there.”

“Don’t we all? I followed you, went into your house, and picked up those pages, discovering who you really are.” His chuckle was hard and angry. “Fate has a sense of humor. You’re the daughter of the man who stole a piece of my power, a breath of my magic.”

A piece of his power? She frowned at the idea. How was it even possible to do that? “That’s not possible,” she said slowly, pondering it, uncertain that it _wasn’t_ possible. To take a piece of a creature’s power meant that that power could be taken away. If the power could be taken away, the creature could be negated as a threat. Did it just apply to him, or did it apply to all creatures that used powers like he did?

“You live in a world of monsters, demons, angels, and magic, and don’t believe it’s possible for someone to steal some of my magic? I assure you it _is_ possible. Not many people over centuries have ever figured out how to do it though. I’ve managed to keep the information hidden for the most part. Take a few arcane rituals and spells, mix them up together and…voilá . Your daddy put together quite a powerful stew. He’d figured out just what he needed from all of them.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Smart man. Too smart for his own good. Resourceful rat.”

“Why would he do that?” She crossed her arms. “Why would he even care to trap some of your magic?”

“Let me start with the fundamentals. You won’t hear this lesson again, so pay attention, darling. Pretend I’m like an orange. Rind is my body as a whole, pith is my magic, pulp is my blood and insides, and juice my very powerful DNA. My magic surrounds me, it’s a part of me, and I breathe magic with every breath, inhaling a mix of oxygen and my own magic and exhaling carbon dioxide and magic. It’s integral to how I work with the world, connecting me to it. Following me so far?”

“Yes.” It made sense so far.

“Aaron played a little trick on me, said his spell, incapacitated me. That’s what his spell did. It incapacitated me so he could do his bit of surgery on me, like…anesthetic. It numbed, temporarily took away my ability to move and work my magic. While he was slicing open my rind to steal some pith,” he held up one arm and indicated a long thin scar along his forearm, “he said in a solicitous manner that he hated to harm me, had the utmost respect for me as a creature, but he was desperate. He needed a bit of my magic to trick a scheming woman so her plans fell apart and his child was saved.”

Gwen’s mouth felt dry. He’d done that in an attempt to save her? That meant he’d known about Mia at some point. When? When had he realized the truth about her? How long had Aaron known his wife was evil?

He pointed at her. “You, as it turns out. He was confident it’d be a few days at most. He’d release my magic so it’d influence matters opposite of how they would likely go and it’d return to me naturally a few days after that. That’s how it works, you see. My magic returns into me, recycles inside me.”

If he was angry, going on about it coming back, then it must not have been returned to him. It was still out there. “You never got it back,” she guessed.

“He _lied_ to me. To _me_.” Rage burned hot in his eyes, his hands clenching into tight fists. “Bound it up in a wooden and silver box lined with lead and left me with a hole inside.” One hand reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, flipping it at her. 

She caught it, opened it. It was a detailed drawing of a box that was so real it looked like a photograph. “It doesn’t seem to have affected your powers.” Gwen folded the paper back up.

“But I feel the hole of that missing piece every day, like a hand that’s been chopped off. Phantom pain that’s very real. Just because I’ve gotten used to not having it doesn’t mean I don’t want it back if I can get it.” 

She supposed she could understand that. “How long have you been following me?”

One brow raised. “You mean before or after your angel friend tried to alter my memories? Her little erasing memories trick doesn’t work for long on my kind. We’re made to alter reality, so it’s hard for ours to be altered successfully even by angels.” He stepped close, hand raising and fingers trailing lightly down the left side of her face. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’ve had fun the past couple days, so I’m feeling generous here. You have six months to return my magic to me from wherever daddy put it. You can bring it to me in Las Vegas -- the same hotel Dean and Jo stayed at -- or you can use it and let it slide back to me. Keep in mind if you do use it? It’ll take a couple days to find me, so mind your timeline. Six months, darling.”

She didn’t move, felt pinned by his gaze. “Then what?” Tension tightened the muscles along her shoulders.

“Then I come for you and I will find you. That angel can’t keep me from you forever.”

Come for her? She didn’t like the sound of that. “What if I can’t find it?”

His other hand raised so he was cupping her face. “Then we’ll see if you can tell the difference between me and lover-boy.” His thumbs caressed gently. “Six months is plenty of time to perfect my impression. I’m almost there already. You’ll bear my child, Gwen, then I’ll take it with me and leave you to feel the loss and know that eventually any one of my kind you hunt could be your own child.” A small smile turned his lips. “Perhaps Sam will wait for you.” 

“Twisted, psychotic --” She tried to pull away, shoving at him, but his hands tightened on her, fingers digging in. He was as unmovable as a rooted tree before her.

“It’s fitting don’t you think? I’ll take a piece of you, ultimately a piece of your father, to replace what he took. You’ll pay for his sin.” Now he released her, hands held out to his sides as he stepped back. “Better find that box, don’t you think? Time’s a-wastin’.”

“And if I do find the box and return the piece to you?”

He appeared to consider the question, though she suspected he didn’t need tot hink about it. “I’ll forget all of you. You and Sam, Dean and Jo, the child Jack, and any children any of you ever have. I’ll forget any of us ever met and give you a wide berth. The slate will be wiped clean between me and your family. How is that for incentive?”

“I don’t know where to look,” she protested. “I didn’t even know about the properties until a couple months ago. How am I supposed to find this box when I’ve no idea where it could be?”

“Not my problem. Happy hunting, darling.” He blew her a kiss. “I look forward to getting to know you really well in a few months.”

He was gone then and she was standing in the stinking damp basement area right below the ruined floor she’d fallen through. Her stomach growled and she felt faintly lightheaded and thirsty. How long had it been? Hours? Days? On the floor not far from her feet, she saw her gun and phone. The phone was still smashed, but the gun appeared to be in working order when she checked it over.

Time passed. Gwen felt like she was going to pass out, the lightheadedness increasing as her hunger increased. How was she going to get out of here and what on earth was she going to do about his ultimatum?

A light appeared above her and grew, bright and hurting her eyes, Sam’s voice calling out. He was there at the edge of the hole, getting onto his hands and knees. “Dean! She’s here! I see her!”

It looked like Sam, sounded like Sam, but was it? Gwen hated the suspicion that this was one more trick and braced herself for disappointment. The Trickster had given her that challenge, yet there was no guarantee he’d let her go without a last illusion to ram home how close he was coming to having his Sam impression down pat.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was worried about having Jack there. Abigael stood with a hand on the edge of the portable crib, looking at Dean. He was asleep, as close to the crib as he could be without falling between it and the bed. One hand was against the mesh of the side. The bed covers were a tangle at his legs. Most of the covers were wrapped around Jo, who’d been restless for a few hours before her body and mind finally rested.

She didn’t often enter their home or the place Jack was, only doing so when she sensed him in distress for some reason. Thus far, his distress had only been natural things: hunger, fatigue, or a need for a clean diaper. This entering of their common space was not because of Jack. Circling above, watching over the town, she’d felt a pull to come down and stand guard over all of them for awhile. She’d felt a need to be close to them and wondered if Castiel had ever felt that. Had he ever stopped by to guard over them as they slept?

Poor Dean. So worried about Jack, about Jo and Sam, and about Gwen. He’d been doing a very good impression of a man just there as potential back-up, but really he was scared to death that he’d made the wrong decision and brought his son into danger. He was terrified that something was going to go wrong and he wouldn’t be able to stop it from happening. This was quite a moment of personal growth for him. He’d gone against his instincts because he’d understood that the circumstances surrounding Gwen’s disappearance meant he could be needed. He’d brought his son and was doing everything possible to protect him while he waited.

Abigael was proud of him and knew Castiel was going to be as well. She almost wished she was allowed to tell Dean that she was there, that nothing that wasn’t already in Jack’s future would harm him, and ease Dean’s mind on the matter. She couldn’t however. It was against the rules they’d been given and she’d be disciplined severely if she broke that rule.

She also couldn’t tell them that Gwen was right there and they were right about the Trickster. That he’d recovered so quickly from her memory wipe bothered her, yet she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He lived and breathed misdirection and altered reality. It only made sense that any changes made to him wouldn’t stick. Sam had reached the conclusion that it was the Trickster quickly and she decided he must have had fears to that end on his mind since the Trickster’s full interest in Gwen had been realized. 

Poor Sam. She turned her attention to him now. He couldn’t sleep with Gwen gone and he was getting irritable and hard to work with. He and Jo had been sniping at each other. They assumed it was the Trickster, but it wasn’t. He wasn’t bothering with them. It was their own worries and fears affecting them. The Trickster was only interested in Gwen at present.

Abigael stepped to the table and watched Sam. He was going over the notes and floor plan, searching for something they’d missed. His hair was messed up from running his hands through it over and over and there were smudges of dark shadows beneath his eyes. The strain of neglecting sleep showed plain on his face. Strange how in moments like this she could clearly see the physical resemblance between Sam and Dean.

Sam was having a tough time with Gwen lately. One worry would be negated and another would crop up right on the heels of it. He was either going to persevere and push through this rocky time or retreat and sacrifice his own happiness and Gwen’s. She wondered if he was strong enough yet in that area to choose the former instead of the latter. Sam Winchester had sacrificed too much already in his young life and been burned too often in this area.

“You can’t help her unless you rest, Sam,” she whispered, but not so that he’d hear her. “You know that. Rest. At least a couple hours.” Abigael stretched out a hand, sliding her fingers in a slow, gentle caress across his forehead and inducing sleep. She laid his head on the table and arranged him in a semi-comfortable position.

If needed later, she could use logic in her defense for interference. Humans suffering from a lack of rest often displayed impaired judgment. With Jack present, Sam could be a potential danger in his current state. He wouldn’t, but the logic was in her favor. Castiel would give her a stern stare that had the slightest bit of approval in his eyes and let her go without reproach.

She did a final check of the immediate area, gave Jack a fond kiss on the forehead goodbye, and retreated to watch over her charge and the town from above.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was awake before anyone else, getting his shower out of the way, then Jack’s feeding. He got Jack dressed and, with a glance at Jo (still unconscious in bed and snoring, though she’d deny it later) and Sam (sprawled at the table drooling on the floor plan of the compound), began putting Jack’s coat on him. “Let’s go get mommy a nice big coffee and something girly for uncle Sammy.”

Jack smiled and blew spit bubbles.

When they got back, Jo was sitting up in bed, staring at the wall in the way she did when she was still mostly asleep. She yawned, sniffed, and began trying to unwind herself of the sheets and blankets twisted around her. “I smell coffee.”

“I brought you coffee.” He set down the four cup container, realizing suddenly that he’d bought four cups instead of three. Dean laid Jack in the crib and lifted the fourth cup. Throw it out or quickly drink it? Gwen usually took her coffee like Dean did. He decided to drink it and took the lid off.

Jo stumbled to the table and sat heavily in the chair across from Sam. “Don’t feel weird about that. I bought two cups that morning before you and Sam got here.”

Jack let out a pained screech and upon checking his diaper, Dean discovered Jack had a rather soggy bottom. “You know, you can keep some of your breakfast in for more than twenty minutes. You don’t have to pee it out immediately.”

“Huh?” Jo pried the lid off her coffee and sniffed it appreciatively. “Mmm. Caramel and vanilla. Dean, you spoil me.”

“Whenever I can,” he replied, “on Ellen and Bobby’s orders.”

“Shouldn’t you wake Sam up?”

He finished changing Jack, much to Jack’s disappointment. He wasn’t happy to have a diaper back on, his delighted smile at having a naked butt replaced with a frown the second Dean fastened the diaper. Dean decided Jack was going to be trouble when he got older. He seemed to prefer being naked. “Let him sleep a little longer. He needs the rest.” He clipped a pacifier to Jack’s shirt and maneuvered it into his mouth, then turned and looked at Jo. Her hair was tangled, her eyes were still half closed, and she’d put on Dean’s robe instead of her own, but she was gorgeous. How could she look so beautiful the second she woke?

“How is he still asleep after that screech,” she mused.

“Exhaustion.”

“Mmm.” She took a long drink of coffee. “I suppose I should get in the shower.”

“You’re staying here today.” He’d thought long and hard about this and would argue with her if needed.

She didn’t argue with the order, nodding and even appearing thoughtful. “You might see something we missed.”

“Jo?”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him.

Dean moved to the table. “No argument?”

“No. I can’t go through that building one more time. I can tell you how many paces into each room and everything, but it’s too depressing. She disappeared _right_ behind me. In a single second. There was nothing I could do.”

“He’s not behaving like himself, you know. The Trickster. Where’s the lesson here?”

“Maybe for Sam to learn to let go?”

He pondered that idea and dismissed it. “I don’t think so. It happened with you here, not Sam. He waited until it was just you two. That indicates to me that he thought Sam or I would get in the way before he could snatch her. I don’t think he’s teaching or tricking anyone but Gwen.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“He separated her from you, isolated her, and hasn’t done anything to you. Looks like he even saved you from being hurt. We know he’s sweet on her, yet angry about something Aaron did. I know you and Sam are afraid he’s hurt her, but I don’t think so.” Dean shook his head. “I think he took her for a reason and he’ll either return her or let her leave when that reason is done.”

“What reason could he possibly have?”

Sam jerked, made a snorting noise, and turned his head on the table before sighing and going back to sleep.

“Don’t know. We’re going to open up the windows, pull down the lower boards, open that wide side door, and let some light in. Electricity should be on by noon. I talked to the town yesterday and they agreed to turn it on for a few days for us. We’ll be able to see, which should help. Might even find the entrance into the basement. My money is that it’s under the cars or the wagon you mentioned.”

“Keep me informed?”

“Of course. I also initiated proceedings with some pretty young naïve thing to get account information. Played the stressed, grieving relative having to deal with a large estate card. Should know later today where the money is coming from and if not, I’ll go in tonight and get it.”

“You’ve been busy, Dean.”

“A little. You and Sam were busy elsewhere. Besides, we need to know this stuff anyway.”

He woke Sam and by ten, they were hard at work out at the property. He went in slowly, like he hadn’t been listening to Jo and Sam, scrutinizing everything while Sam worked on the windows.

Dean stepped carefully to the hole in the main floor, shining the light down and panning it back and forth. Jo and Sam were right. All that he saw down there were floorboards, dirt, and pieces of rusty metal. Carefully, he changed positions, moving opposite where he’d been and crouching down. No blood, no body, no nothing. That certainly pointed to their conclusion. Next, he went to the two cars and the wagon at the end of the room, laying down and peering beneath them.

There. Under the wagon. That was a handle. That was also a large, heavy wagon in the way. Difficult for them to move even with two of them. It could be done, he thought, but they’d be hurting later. Might be easier to chop it to pieces. Maybe later. He also found a long ladder that Sam and Jo had forgotten to mention. Maybe they’d do the upper windows too, really let the light inside.

He toured the apartment part of the compound, finding it depressingly like the compound he’d become familiar with in 2011. There had been attempts to make it family friendly, like the mural on the bedroom wall, but for the most part, it was depressing. He tried to imagine children growing up here and couldn’t. Dean much preferred their own set-up and the cheery colors Jo had chosen for the nursery.

When he’d seen everything there was to see, he went to help Sam. They’d get the boards down, then try the power and if it was on and bulbs still worked, they’d begin tearing the inside of the building apart looking for her, one section at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam felt better than he’d expected for only a couple hours of sleep. Pulling boards from the windows was an activity that made him feel like he was at least doing something to help Gwen. Dean came around the corner of the building and Sam paused. “Find anything?”

“The trapdoor to the basement, but we’ll need to move the wagon to open it.”

“Think they were trying to protect something down there?”

Dean snorted. “At this point? I think they just did it out of orneriness. Make things harder for anyone coming in being nosy. Found a ladder, too. Why didn’t you two tell me there was a ladder?”

He thought about it and couldn’t remember there being one, but maybe he’d missed seeing it. “I don’t remember a ladder. Where is it?” He dropped one board to the ground.

“Behind the cars and wagon against the wall.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Oh,” he reached up with the hammer for the next board, “I just don’t remember seeing a ladder the past couple days, though I didn’t look back there for more than a minute and only with a flashlight. Guess I might’ve missed it.”

With Dean’s help, the task went faster and soon, all of the lower windows were free of boards and they’d cleared enough snow to open the double doors on the long side of the building. Sam strode through them and to the hole in the floor. “She’s down there, Dean. I know she is.”

“Yeah, well, help me with this wagon and we’ll go down and take a better look.”

He moved to help him, giving the hole a last glance.

It was strange how Gwen appeared. She hadn’t been there and then she was, blinking at the light and holding a hand up partially over her eyes. “Dean! She’s here! I see her!” Relief flooded through his body.

“You hallucinating now, Sammy?” Dean stepped closer, expression shifting into concern when he saw her. “Son of a bitch. You’re right.” He carefully knelt on the other side of the hole. “Gwen? You hear us okay? You hurt?”

She was behaving strangely, not reaching up for their help. Instead, she stared at them with suspicion. “I hear you and I’m not hurt. I thought I had a concussion at first, but I don’t think I do.”

Sam stretched out carefully at the edge of the ruined floor. “Give me your hands. I’ll pull you up.”

The words that came out of her mouth weren’t anything near what he expected.

“What would you do if I was pregnant, Sam?”

What kind of a question was that? He glanced at Dean, who gave him a perplexed shrug. “Um…you want to talk about this now? Can’t it wait? Because I’m thinking this isn’t really the time --”

“Answer the question.”

He licked his lips, thinking in furious circles about how he really felt on the issue right now, wanting to give her as honest an answer as possible in as short a time as possible. He could feel the floorboards beneath him beginning to sag more than they were. “Well, used to be I’d take you and leave, start over somewhere with new identities.”

Her head tilted to one side, like she was listening carefully to everything about his answer, from the words themselves, to his voice. “And now?”

“I’m not sure. Dean and Jo didn’t do that. I don’t know what I’d do. Why?”

“Do you want a baby?”

He froze, eyes going wide. Hell no he didn’t want a baby. No way he was ready for that. Sam took a deep breath and blew it out. “No. Not…God, Gwen. Not right now. You know I’m not ready for that. I might never be.”

Her expression shifted to relief and her shoulders sagged. Her eyes closed a moment before she opened them and stretched her hands up to him so he could pull her up. “Get me out of here, Sam.”

He couldn’t quite reach her though. “Damn it. Dean --”

Dean snapped his fingers. “Ladder.”

“You read my mind.”

They lowered the ladder down to her. It was just long enough.

When she was up, and they were all away from the ruined center section of floor, Dean stared hard at her. “What the hell happened to you down there?”

“Don’t ask.” She was shivering a little, whether from cold or emotion Sam wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

“You know I gotta.”

“Where’s Jo? Is she okay?”

“She’s back at the motel with Jack,” Sam told her, rubbing a hand along her back.

“Tell,” Dean prodded.

Gwen glanced back at the hole in the floor and shuddered. “Can I have a shower, a change of clothes, and a hot meal first? I’ve no idea when the last time I actually ate was. I’m sort of lightheaded right now.”

“We can arrange that.” Sam gave Dean a discouraging glance. “Talk as you eat.”

“As we all eat,” Dean added. “Hold on. Sam, let’s get the ladder up. We’ll need it later.”

The ladder was gone and from the rafters came the sound of wings flapping. Sam stared up there. “You son of a bitch! Come down and face me! You want her you have to go through me!”

Gwen touched his chest with a hand. “Sam, can we just go? Please?”

She was exhausted, he could see it, and whatever the creature had done had put a suspicion of him there in her eyes. He hated seeing that spark of doubt and with a last glance upwards, Sam nodded. “Okay. I’ll track him down later.” It was a promise.

“Oh, I know you will. You definitely will.” 

Her tone held a certainty and Sam knew he wasn’t going to like whatever she was going to say later. They stepped out of the long doors, Dean sliding them closed behind them.

“How long was I gone,” Gwen asked as they walked down the driveway.

“Four days.” Sam helped her over the fence. “You were missing for four days. Today would’ve been the fifth.”

Dean headed straight for the nearest fast food place, buying Gwen a meal deal and handing it across the seat to her. She had it gone before they’d reached their motel.

Jo grabbed Gwen to her in a long hug when they came through the door. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

“Not my fault.”

“Still. No more disappearing.”

“I’ll do my best.” Gwen went into the bathroom to take her shower and just as she was shutting the door, Sam stopped her. 

He glanced over his shoulder at Dean and Jo before leaning down to her. “Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Sing while you’re in there so I know you’re still here?” His request might seem silly to some, but he needed to hear her voice and sometimes she sang in the shower anyway.

She didn’t hesitate, nodding. “Any requests?”

“No, just…keep singing for me.”

Her hand raised, fingers smoothing along his cheek and jaw. “Only for you, Sam.” Lowering her hand, she eased the door shut. After a minute, the shower started and Gwen began to sing.

He dragged a chair to the door and sat, watching Dean and Jo clean up the room a little and listening to Gwen’s soft singing in the shower. She alive and well it seemed, but the Trickster was going to be in a world of hurt when Sam finally got hold of him. 


	15. Chapter 15

When Gwen emerged from the bathroom, showered and dressed in clean clothes, she found only Jo waiting. “Where’d the guys go?”

“There’s a restaurant down the street that has a small dining room, so they went to grab us a table. It fills up fast and there can be a wait for a table.” Jo remained sitting on one bed, watching her. “The Trickster….. Did he hurt you,” she asked in a cautious tone, her eyes narrowed.

“How did you know it was him?” Gwen sat on the other bed and reached for her boots.

“Sam figured it out pretty quickly. The circumstances surrounding your disappearance and all that.” She shifted position, leaning towards Gwen. “Gwen. Answer the question. Did he _hurt_ you?”

One boot on, she sat up and turned her head, looking at Jo. There’d been an emphasis on the word ‘hurt’, like she meant hurt in more than the usual sort of way. With a chill, it dawned on her what Jo was trying to ask in a delicate way. She was asking if Gwen had been raped during those days. “Jo…. You mean rape. That’s what you’re asking isn’t it? You want to know if he raped me.”

Slowly Jo nodded. “He seemed to…like you a lot.”

An understatement and more delicate wording. “No. He didn’t rape me, though he did try to seduce me a couple times.” She put on her other boot. “I’ll tell you guys everything, but I don’t really want to tell it more than once, so can we go?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She put on her coat and with an apologetic voice added, “I’m sorry, Gwen. I told Sam I’d ask. He was trying to figure out why you looked at him funny back at the building and got it into his head that the creature raped you. We couldn’t get him talked out of the idea, so I told him I’d ask, but he had to go with Dean to get a table and let me ask in private. He made me promise to ask as gently as possible.” 

She didn’t miss the quick shake of Jo’s head when they joined Sam, Dean, and Jack at the table, nor did she miss the relief that played across Sam’s features.

Once they’d ordered, Dean crossed his arms on the table, fixed an inquiring gaze on her, and asked, “Was it definitely the Trickster took you?”

“Yes. He followed us here, followed me.”

“Now, I thought Abigael took care of him,” Jo said, trying to entice Jack to quit crying by tapping his mouth with the pacifier. He wasn’t taking the bait like usual, raising his hands and waving them around, refusing to take it. “She said she erased his memories.”

“It didn’t work for long, something about his mind being too different to be altered by angelic interference. I don’t know how long he’s been hanging around. He didn’t say. Avoided saying, rather. For all I know, he was back almost as fast as she’d dropped him back in Vegas.” The idea that he’d been hanging around watching her with Sam made her feel uneasy and Gwen resolved to get blinds for their two bedroom windows when they got back.

Sam’s expression darkened. “What did he want?”

She began talking, explaining what he’d said about Aaron and the box that contained a piece of his power. Gwen paused only once in her narrative, when their server brought their salads. As she spoke, she saw interest deepen in both Sam and Dean’s eyes. “He gave me an ultimatum. Six months.”

“Ultimatum?” Sam stopped eating and stared at her. “What’s that mean?” His voice was tight with tension, the words almost clipped.

“Then what? What’s he want after six months?” Dean pushed his half touched salad plate away. She’d noticed he wasn’t a big fan of salad and would eat only a little if he had one. “He plan to kill you?”

This was the part she didn’t want to talk about, the part that made her uncomfortable. She was already imagining what it would be like to give birth to a child she and Sam had made together only to discover it hadn’t been Sam with her the entire time. It was a terrible thing to contemplate that began to make her sick to her stomach. Gwen took a hasty drink from her water glass, then crossed her arms and sat back. The nausea remained, a slow roll in her belly. “Worse. He’ll kidnap me, pretend to be Sam….” She looked down at the table rather than see how Sam was reacting. Gwen could feel the tension rising at their table and spoke quickly. “He plans to get me pregnant, steal the child when it’s born, then leave me to feel that loss.” Silence greeted her announcement of the Trickster’s plans and she looked up. 

Three pairs of eyes stared at her, each with differing levels of emotion. Jo’s held mild disgust, Dean’s had disgust and anger, and Sam’s…. Sam’s held pure rage that simmered slowly. His rage was different from the anger in Dean’s eyes, harder, hotter, and indicated there was going to be a dead Alpha Trickster sometime in the future. He’d signed his own death warrant and Sam planned to show no mercy. 

“He says it’s fitting.” Gwen could barely get the words out.

“In what warped world,” Jo drawled, finally just taking Jack from his carrier and holding him against her shoulder, which was apparently what he wanted, eyes wide as he looked around behind Jo, his head bobbing just a little.

“His. The sin of the father visited on the daughter -- in a way. Taking a piece of me can be considered taking a piece of Aaron to replace the piece taken from him.”

Sam stacked Dean’s plate on top of his own empty one and set them by the edge of the table. “So that’s what all that was earlier about babies.”

“Yeah. He’d been pretending to be you already.” Gwen met his gaze with her own, trying to convey what had happened without saying it.

His lips pressed tight together, the ire returning. “He didn’t.”

She nodded. “He pretended to be you most of the time.”

“ _That_ was why you looked at me like you didn’t trust me.”

Definitely a dead Alpha in the future, she thought. “He tried to seduce me, talked about how we should have a baby, had this elaborate lie, but I knew it wasn’t you. You get this look in your eyes when we talk kids….” She lowered her gaze to the table top. “It was one way I knew.”

“What were the others?” Dean’s voice sounded oddly gentle and when she looked at him, she saw that he was watching her the way he did when he was looking for lies.

“Tone of voice, word choice. Some of the differences were so small I thought a couple times I was being stupid, but he couldn’t quite get Sam’s eyes right. He didn’t look at me how Sam does.” It was hard to explain and frightening to realize that the Trickster had, for a few minutes at least, been able to look at her the way Sam did. If he practiced, she’d never know the difference. She hugged herself now, cold despite the heat in the restaurant.

After a long moment, Dean’s expression shifted and he relaxed. He took a long drink from his glass.

Their food came, Jo settling Jack back into his carrier much to his loud disappointment. He was fussy, twisting and crying in the carrier, refusing to take the pacifier. Jo’s lips tightened and a flush began to grow on her cheeks, though Gwen doubted it was from embarrassment. More likely it was annoyance. Jack was usually good in public so when he wasn’t it annoyed Jo. 

When they’d begun eating, Dean cleared his throat. “Go on.”

She took a deep breath and focused on cutting her chicken while she spoke. “He said my laughing at one of his jokes while knowing what he was attracted him like a mating call. Bobby pegged that right. Anyway, the Trickster had planned on wooing me eventually, try to take me away from Sam. He said he’d taken women away from human men before and he could do it again.”

“A little not-so-friendly competition,” Dean remarked, cutting a couple more bites of his Salisbury steak.

Sam slammed his knife and fork down so hard that Jack let out a startled scream. “So he gives you an impossible task, with the end result in his favor either way. If you win, he gets his piece of magic back and if you lose, he gets months of your life and a new generation of himself.” His nostrils flared, that ire that had been in his eyes bleeding back into them, though she realized she’d been wrong. Sam’s anger wasn’t hot, it was cold. Icy even and frightening. “Not to mention a way to keep you from hunting his kind.” 

Gwen set her knife and fork down. The anger wasn’t directed at her, but it was still frightening to see the depths of it. She’d seen Sam angry before, but not like this. She’d seen him at his worst when he was soulless, but that was all calculation and logic. It hadn’t frightened her. This…. It was the first moment she’d seen something in him that flat-out scared her. He had the abilities of his soulless self inside him, yet under normal circumstances they were reigned in. Hurt someone he loved however…. She almost pitied the Trickster when Sam got hold of him. “Pretty much.” She found her appetite had decreased while discussing the matter and wasn’t sure she could eat much at all.

“Dick!”

Jack let out another screech and the level of sound in the restaurant diminished, people looking over at their table. Jo shot Sam a dirty look, once more trying to soothe the infant. “Sam. Could you dial it back a notch or ten? Please? I’d like to get him calmed down sometime soon.”

“Sorry, Jo.” He looked contrite, expression smoothing out.

Sympathy played on Dean’s features. “You know, Sam, he _is_ a monster. He’s just doing what monsters do.” After two more quick bites, he stood and came around the table, removing Jack from the carrier and lifting him against his shoulder like Jo had done. “Come here, buddy. Daddy’s got you.” He patted Jack’s back and returned to his seat. Jack now watched things behind Dean. He’d gotten what he wanted and stopped crying. “Settle down.”

Gwen wondered if the comment was directed to Jack or to Sam. He could mean either.

Sam picked up his fork again.

“So how do I get him off my ass if I don’t make the timeline?” Gwen shoved her plate aside, food half eaten. She wasn’t hungry anymore. The possibility, no the _probability_ that she wouldn’t find the box, sent another wave of nausea through her. She tasted bile at the back of her throat and reached for her water glass.

I won’t throw up, she thought. Not now. Later. In private.

“Not exactly your ass he’s wanting,” Jo pointed out, digging into her baked potato and shooting a glance her way.

Dean studied Gwen a minute. “He talked about babies and wanting one.”

“That’s what she said,” Sam snapped, setting his silverware back down and sitting back in his chair. He turned his head, studying the restaurant with quick flicks of his gaze.

The Trickster wanted his piece of power back and he wanted her. He wanted both. She didn’t think he’d leave her, or them, alone as promised. He’d said that to make her think there was a light at the end of the tunnel. He’d said it as a trick. He wasn’t going to let her go. Maybe in the six months he’d given her or maybe in a year or more, he’d come after her and take her away.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dean grinned and clapped his free hand to Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy, you’ve got some work to do. Now remember, don’t take the fun out of the fun while getting the job done.” Now he released Sam’s shoulder and pointed a finger at Gwen. “All you have to do is lie back and let Sam do all the work. He’ll have you preggers in no time.”

Jo coughed and laughed, then coughed some more, her napkin held over her mouth. “Damn, Dean.”

Sam shoved his plate away, abandoning his food. “Not funny. Not in the least bit funny. Are you _trying_ to be offensive?”

Gwen didn’t find it particularly funny either. “That’s your idea? Sam knocks me up first? What, is it a contest?”

Dean adjusted Jack in his arms and nodded. “Yeah, actually it is a contest. Trickster can’t very well take you to impregnate you if you’re already pregnant.”

“Nice. That’s a drastic course of action.”

“You don’t like that idea? Okay.” His glance went to Sam, Jo, and back to Gwen. “Here’s a serious one. We finish going through this building, then get back and hunt down that box and Aaron’s notes. No getting distracted by Campbell this or possibly Harvelle that. We search for anything in Aaron’s handwriting and if it’s not his, set it aside for later. We put this on high priority. Six months may look like a lot of time, but it isn’t. Believe me, it’ll fly.”

After a final cough and drink of water, Jo shook her head. “What makes you think the Campbells had his notes?”

“They seemed to have everything else.” 

Gwen noticed a gleam in Dean’s eyes, like he knew something more than he was telling. “You seem certain.”

“You should be too. He trusted them, they trusted him. It’s not out of the question that Neal and Patricia grabbed some of his things on their way out of town with you. If there was something important there and they knew it? I think they’d risk it. If he was able to do what the Trickster said, what else did he maybe figure out about him? Might be something there on how to hide you from him or something to repel him.”

“That’s a whole lot of maybe,” she said. “Here, why don’t I take Jack so you can finish eating?” Dean relinquished him readily. 

The baby felt good in her arms, something of a comfort, and she rested her cheek against his head.

“We’ve worked on less,” Jo pointed out, reaching for the dessert menu. “We’ve worked on a suggestion before and no proof of anything. Anyone want to split a piece of something with me?”

“You have to ask,” Dean replied.

Sam crossed his arms and once their dinner dishes were gone and Jo and Dean had a piece of pie à la mode to split, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I want to know more about the spell Aaron used. He said it incapacitated him?”

“Yeah. Like anesthetic and temporarily paralyzed him.”

“Could be useful. Especially if it can be adapted to work on other creatures. How on earth did he figure out how to do that?”

“Maybe he was a genius,” Dean suggested. 

Gwen returned her attention to him. The way he said that…. He knew something, but what? “Dean? What --”

“Maybe he had obscure reference books that’d put Bobby’s collection to shame.”

“And maybe he just had a knack for it.” Jo took a final bite and left the rest for Dean. “Some do.”

“Hmm.” Sam watched Jack, though it didn’t look like he was seeing him. It looked like his eyes were losing focus, his thoughts turning inward. “If their powers can be drained and contained…. I mean not just his, but other creatures….” His eyes narrowed and Gwen thought he was working out a plan in his head for dealing with the Trickster if they found the information. “It can work. It _will_ work.”

“Some bad things will get a lot easier to kill once we get Aaron’s spell.” Dean finished with the pie and ice cream. “If it _does_ work on other creatures. If it’s just him it works on, we can still add it to our arsenal, keep it ready to go.” He picked up the check and looked at it. “Who’s going back out to the building with me?”

“Not me.” Jo handed Jack’s coat to Gwen. “Gwen, would you put that on him? I want to get back and look up a few things.”

“Sure.” She worked the garment onto the infant, then got up and took him to his carrier, putting him in it, a task that got easier the more she did it. “I’ll go with Jo.”

Sam didn’t answer, letting Dean get the check, taking Gwen’s hand in his as they stepped outside onto the sidewalk. “I’ll stay back if you want. Stay with you.” 

She threaded her fingers through his, feeling the warmth of them about hers, enjoying the way he grasped her hand, with firmness and certainty, and the way his thumb slid across her skin in a slow, tickling caress. A detail the Trickster didn’t have and a thing that reassured her. “No, you go. I’ll be okay. You do an inventory, decide what can go and what can stay and if we can use the property. Work with Dean.”

“You’re sure?”

She turned to face him and looked up at him, disentangling her hand from his and placing her palms flat on his chest. Gwen splayed her fingers, sliding them under the front edge of his coat. “No, but we have a job to finish here and I just want to go home and start looking for that box, so let’s get it done and go home.”

He was reluctant to leave her, studying the area around them before nodding and releasing her. “Okay. Stop in and pick up a new phone before you go back to the room, then text me when you have it.”

Upon reaching the room and sending a text to Sam, Gwen put the phone away and laid down on her stomach the end of one bed. “What are you looking up?”

Jo laid Jack in the crib. “Nothing. I just couldn’t go back there. Not today. Sam and I went over that place so many times, Gwen. We were so focused on the building…. Dean did the sensible thing. He got the power on and had a plan to let light in. I still feel exhausted from searching for you.”

Gwen understood that and grunted, resting her chin on her hands.

“You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure. Update me. What else has been going on while I was missing?”

Jo sat down and filled her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean returned from the clerks office triumphant. He had the account information. It hadn’t even been that difficult to get. Sitting at the table, he and Jo went through the information, Jo taking notes with questions they needed to delve further into. The tax bill was paid. Who was paying it? They had the name of a bank in Virginia. Where was the money coming from?

Surely there weren’t still more Campbell relatives running around out there? Or was this the last of what had been set up back in Samuel’s day? Were they going to find accounts running out of money or a scam system set up by a recent Campbell that had yet to be found out -- credit card fraud to pay bills? Dean wondered if any of the money paying the taxes and rents and such was legit.

It was frustrating to realize that for every question they had answered about the Campbell family, three more popped up. He thought it might be easier to just forget all of it, but then the idea that they could sell one of the properties owned outright rose in his mind again. Selling one would fund their own operation for awhile and they hardly needed properties all over the country. 

Or did they? It would be handy to have toxic waste dumps in centralized locations. Still, whatever fund was paying the taxes and fees on these places was going to run out eventually, right? They couldn’t assume the places would always be paid for. This plan to check out each one and close them one by one if they weren’t needed was a good one. There was plenty of room at the Harvelle building. Ellen and Gwen had confirmed that. They could reorganize, add to it like Dean thought the Campbells had been doing.

That begged the question as to why they’d added to it like it was their own unit? Just because Bill Harvelle had given them the key didn’t mean they had free reign with it. Or did it? What relationship had Bill had with Neal? That note Ellen and Gwen had found hadn’t indicated that he’d signed it over, just that he’d wanted them to keep an eye on it for him. Had they begun adding their own things to it after Bill had died?

Questions, questions, and more questions.

Dean wished Samuel had been more forthcoming about the organization of the family branches, about the genealogy, about…. Hell, about everything. He’d been close-mouthed and that apparently was a Campbell trait because Gwen had been talking about how she now knew Neal and Patricia had kept secrets. Gwen hadn’t even known about the buildings or where dangerous objects were stored. She’d known about Samuel’s compound and about Samuel’s little Alpha torture building, but she hadn’t known a ton of other things. 

Ellen had warned them months ago that the Campbell family loved their secrets. Dean was determined that that ended with them. All of this information was going to be organized and Jack (and whatever other children he and Jo or Sam and Gwen might have) would know the sort of people he came from. None of this mysterious crap that drove a man nuts. Information laid out plain and simple.

“You look thoughtful,” Jo commented, tapping her pen on the pad of paper.

“You realize how much simpler all this would be if Samuel or Neal hadn’t been so damned paranoid about their own kin?”

“We’re all paranoid, Dean. It’s just a trait hunters have for our own survival.”

“But they took it to extremes. Journals in code dating back over a hundred years? Circular paths that make it almost impossible for their children and grandchildren to trace their own money and property? Not telling their children essential things, like the truth about Gwen’s parents and the location of waste dumps?” He shook his head. “We’re honest with Jack and nothing less. I bet they thought they were protecting family, protecting information, but all they were doing was leaving a headache for future generations.”

“You really think we won’t leave a headache one way or the other?”

He considered those words and had to admit the truth of it. “No. We’ll leave Jack something mysterious that’ll annoy the hell out of him. It’s a parent’s job, I guess, confounding their kids. Geez, the things Sam and I found out about dad after he was gone? Man. He took a page from the Campbell book with his secrets.”

“He was trying to protect you and others. Dean, all we can do is our best and what we think is the right thing to do. Doesn’t mean it is in the end.”

“Yeah, but this….” He indicated the papers. “Someone had a frickin’ screw loose. I keep thinking if mom knew half this stuff we’re trying to figure out? No wonder she wanted out so badly.”

Jo’s hand stretched out and clasped his. She squeezed it, then let go and picked up her pen again. “So, what was the name on that again?”

He was grateful she changed the subject and soon they were busy making calls. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting in the Impala beside Dean, Sam could see Gwen’s car slide a little on the snowy, icy road. Being in the Impala and not with Gwen was driving him nuts, but Dean had claimed he’d wanted to talk to Sam about something. That something hadn’t actually come around, or if it had, Sam hadn’t been listening, too intent on watching the car ahead of them. 

‘Slow down’ Sam texted to Jo. She and Gwen were probably both getting more irritated with him with each text, but he couldn’t help it. He was worried, jumpy, and edgy since the Trickster’s plan had been revealed and the weather wasn’t helping. The snow was getting heavier and they were going to have to stop rather than push on for Sioux Falls. The conditions were swiftly becoming blizzard-like, snow swirling across the road with the gusts of wind and obliterating visibility.

Dean kept telling him to relax, like it was even a remote possibility for him.

He saw the brake lights flash.

“She grew up mostly in the north Midwest, you know. I think Gwen knows how to drive on snow.” Dean reached out and turned the heat down.

“Maybe.”

“Will you relax?”

“Could you relax if it had been Jo?”

He glanced at Sam and shrugged his brows. “Good point.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I can’t see a damn thing. Text them again. Tell them to pull over at the first motel they see.”

Twenty minutes later they were pulling into a motel parking lot. Sam immediately got out of the Impala and headed to Gwen’s car before Dean had even turned the car off. He couldn’t shake the fear that the second he turned his back she’d be gone again.

She wasn’t though. She was safe, sitting there in the car with Jo. Of course she’d been safe. She’d been the one driving and he’d kept a watch the entire time, either turned around in his seat or craning his neck to watch out the windshield depending on where they’d been. 

He stood by her door, waiting for her to open it and get out.

Six months.

Geez. Who did the Trickster think he was?

He couldn’t let that happen, _wouldn’t_ let it happen.

Gwen and Jo got out of the car. They were laughing and talking and looked like they’d been having a far better time than Sam, Dean, and Jack. Sam had been too concerned with Gwen’s safety to pay much attention to Dean’s conversation and Dean wouldn’t turn on the music for fear it’d wake Jack who’d finally gone to sleep after screaming for an hour. 

Sam thought a screaming baby was one of the best forms of birth control on the planet.

Dean brought the carrier over and held it out to Jo. “Take him.”

She took it and looked down, peeking through the blanket Dean had draped over it. “He’s asleep. What’s the problem?”

“Screaming baby. Car acoustics. I’m going to check us in.” He turned and began to walk towards the motel office.

“Two rooms, Dean,” Sam yelled as a reminder. He wasn’t sure if Dean heard him or not, as he didn’t acknowledge the words with a wave or anything.

“Girls and guys,” Jo asked with an innocent grin.

He was in no mood for her teasing. “Me and Gwen in one, you, Dean, and Jack in the other and I don’t care about the extra money. I’ll pay it if Dean won’t. I want quality time with my girlfriend after she’s been missing for the better part of a week. Is that too much to ask?”

Jo held up a hand. “Geez. Back down boy. I knew what you meant and it’s not too much to ask. I was expecting it.” She looked at Gwen and jerked her thumb at Sam. “Calm him down, will you?” She turned. “I’m going in the office where it’s warm.”

“I can drive on snow, you know,” Gwen said, taking his hand and tugging him towards the office. “And speaking of snow, lets get out of it while we wait.”

“I know you can.”

“Then stop with the ‘slow down’ texts. I understand you’re worried and still upset, I do, but I can get us back to base just fine and if we do slide off the road? You and Dean are right behind us. Relax.”

“I can’t.” He stopped her at the glass doors, ignoring the gust of wind that nearly knocked them over. “He took you like it was nothing. Aren’t _you_ still upset by that?”

Her expression changed, grew serious. “I’m sick to my stomach over it is how I am. Ask Jo. I’ve been eating antacid tablets since we left.” She shook her head. “But I can’t change it, Sam. It happened. We have to get back and begin dealing with it.”

They had a relaxed evening, watching tv with Dean and Jo, then retreated to their own room.

Sam laid beside Gwen and watched her sleep. She was exhausted, splayed out on her back beside him, and dead to the world like Jack when he slept.

Reaching out, he used one finger to raise the necklace he’d given her, looking at the rings there. With the Trickster’s ultimatum still ringing in his mind, he found his thoughts treading to one of the subjects the necklace signified and turning in circles over and over. Engagement, marriage, and children. He was hardly ready for children, that was sure, but the others? 

He laid the necklace back down and trailed his fingers down to her waist before moving closer. Sam didn’t wake her. She needed her rest but he needed to be physically closer to her, to feel the warmth of her body against him and the rise and fall of her chest with breath. He rested his arm around her waist and his head beside hers on the pillow, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of her perfume.

What if he lost her?

Sam knew she loved him; that she didn’t plan on leaving. It wasn’t that sort of loss he thought about now. It was the sort that came without warning, like how quickly she’d disappeared and how fast she could be taken from him.

Like Jess.

He’d thought he had plenty of time with Jess and he hadn’t, so why was he even dragging his feet now?

If Gwen was gone forever this very night, would he regret the future he hadn’t asked her to have with him?

The answer to the first question was complicated. He dragged his feet because opening himself even more was to leave himself naked to the possibility of pain.

The answer to the second was a loud resounding ‘yes’ in his mind. He’d regret never taking that step and after losing two women he’d loved, he knew he’d never recover.

Sam held onto her like a lifeline as sleep pulled him under.


	16. Chapter 16

In an old, abandoned grocery store in a small town in West Virginia, a rumbling began. Cracks appeared in the east wall that butted up against the bank next door. The rumbling grew worse. Items fell off of shelves, glass jars breaking and spilling contents that should never see the light of day again to the floor. Chunks of plaster began to fall from the ceiling.

In the center of the building, a box sat. It was a square foot in diameter. Beneath the box was a symbol on the floor and above it on the ceiling was the same symbol. On the box were more symbols.

One chunk pushed the box askew from the exact center placement on the symbol, taking it out of alignment and breaking one protection spell.

Another chunk fell directly on the box, denting one symbol and eradicating another set of protections. If there’d been anyone present to hear, they would have noticed a sound very much like an excited whispering.

A hole appeared in the roof and wall by the bank, a final chunk breaking open the wood of the box lid enough that the final protection spell and the containment seal were broken. The box lid splintered, the creature that had been imprisoned rising up.

He was shadow and mist at present, weak from his slumber, and very angry at those who’d jailed him. He had a long memory and made his way through the town, seeking a trace of the ones he needed to destroy. If he killed them, he could never be jailed again and he’d remain free in the world, like he’d been briefly decades earlier and a much longer time before that. He searched and watched and discovered a man that was perfect for his purposes.

He did need a body after all and this one was…fitting.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mick Richardson hated Sirens. He hated everything about them, but they were the only job near where he was at present. He’d finished up the last old case Ellen had given him and only gloated a fraction that he’d now solved four of what the Campbell family had called ‘unsolvable’. He thought it was more a case of them being too bored to finish the cases, though assented that perhaps new facts had come to light with time.

He pretended to take a drink from his glass and watched the Siren work a man across the room. It’d be more fun if Sophie was there with him. She made everything fun, but no, she was still Alaska. He couldn’t wait until she was back with him. Christmas just wasn’t going to be the same without her there. He’d bought her a gift, a tiny piece of lingerie, and when she was back, he’d give it to her, let her wrap herself, and then unwrap her.

His phone buzzed as an email came through and he opened it, read the message from Jo Winchester and responded. Quite an interesting looking box they were trying to find. He wondered who had the design for something like that. Wood, silver, and lead. Interesting concept. It was no trouble to look out for it. He was already looking out for several things for other people. Mick put the phone away and continued his surveillance.

As he watched the Siren over the next few days, making sure she was who he thought, he became aware of being watched himself. It made no sense. There was never anyone there, yet he knew without one doubt that he was being watched.

At his car, he gave the area a glance, and opened the back, removing a shotgun loaded with salt rounds. Mick turned. “Okay, you son of a bitch, let’s tangle!”

Quiet. A frigid breeze swept down the deserted street and he squinted at one spot at the far end of the street. For a second, it had almost looked like a man standing there.

No. There. Out of the corner of his eye.

He whirled. A shadow again, there and not at the same time.

“Show yourself,” he said in a commanding voice.

To his surprise, it did, and Mick was able to see exactly what came to take him over. The last thing he heard was the sound of his gun discharging mingled with his own screams.

~~~~~~~~~

With a goal in mind, December passed quickly in a flurry of strangeness. The break was over. Jobs began popping up in a steady stream. Sam and Dean took some of them and passed others on to other hunters. Jo and Gwen tore open the remaining Campbell boxes at the house and at Bobby’s house looking for that wooden and silver box and anything in Aaron Carys’s handwriting. By now, they all knew his handwriting on sight. The drawing the Trickster had given Gwen was copied and passed around. Ellen, Bobby, and Rufus all got copies, and Jo had sent a scan to Sophie, Mick, and Chris. All said they’d keep an eye out for it.

Calamity Granny nibbled at the bait Dean had set out, but she didn’t take it, sending him a private message that read ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Dean dear.’ How she’d known it was him puzzled him until he talked to Ellen and discovered she and Calamity Granny had been chatting a lot online. Granny had asked if the user was Dean and Ellen had confirmed it. Dean then made a mental note to have Sam give Ellen the whole ‘being careful online’ talk.

When he and Sam were present, they spelled Gwen and Jo with Ellen’s holiday rituals as the two were getting tired of them. Dean let himself be dragged to a madrigal dinner at the college and was pleasantly surprised to find that the dresses the women were wearing left a nice amount of cleavage on view. He had a nice time ogling the women and Ellen had a nice time bonding with her son-in-law over wassail (hot apple juice with spices) and chicken. They both left in a decent mood.

That mood faded two days before Christmas when Sophie called. Jo passed her phone to him. “Here, Dean. Talk to her. You want to hear this.”

He took the phone. “Sophie? What’s up?”

“Have you heard from Mick?”

“Not for awhile. You back from Alaska?” He recalled her having said she was sorting out her stepsister’s estate. “I thought you were staying until January.”

“I was, but we wrapped up earlier than I’d thought. Listen, Dean…I can’t locate Mick. Usually he’s easy to reach and calls me back within hours, but he’s not answering and I can’t get his location. GPS isn’t working.” She was upset, very much so.

“You have his last known location?”

“Yes, but it does no good. He’s not there. I’m there now and he’s just not here. I can’t pick up his trace. I’ve been trying for five days now. His car isn’t here, or his things. He’s just…gone. And don’t say he probably took off on me. Don’t you dare say that. Mick’s not that way. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

No way he _would_ suggest it. Mick only had eyes for Sophie. “Where was he?” Last known location was in West Virginia. Dean wrote down the particulars, from the dates he’d been there to the motel he’d told Sophie he was at, then asked, “You know what he was working on?”

“No. He said it was a relatively easy job, a Siren, and that was the last time I heard from him. Dean, he’s never out of touch like this. I just --”

“Okay, okay.” He could hear her crying, her voice thick from tears. He could also hear the worry that Mick was dead and the Siren had disposed of him. “Sophie, calm down. Can you do that for me?”

When she’d composed herself once more, he asked a few more questions about Mick, things he didn’t already know, such as aliases and the like. Sophie said she’d already begun checking them out, but Dean assured her they’d do what they could and let her know if they’d made progress on a weekly basis. He wasn’t sure what she thought they could do, but it was nice to know she had confidence in them.

They had their first Christmas as a family, he, Jo, Jack, Sam, and Gwen. Even Sam had agreed they should start making their own traditions instead of holding on to old ones. A fresh start. 

Jo and Gwen had bought a tabletop tree and decorated it while he and Sam were taking care of a werewolf in Georgia. Jo showed them how all they’d have to do after Christmas was unplug it and put it back in the box, her excitement in the fact obvious in the width and smugness of her grin.

“It doesn’t even take up two feet of space. Is it not awesome?”

She was right. It didn’t take up two feet of space. “It’s wonderful.” The presents on the table took up more space than it did. The entire table was littered with red, gold, green, and burgundy wrapped packages, most of approximately the same size. Dean touched one. “You, uh, get a little carried away with the presents?”

“Not me. That’s mom’s doing. I told you she goes nuts at Christmas. You didn’t believe me when I told you the extent she can go to without anyone to hold her back. Ninety-nine percent of those are for Jack.”

“He’s not old enough to rip into presents yet or even know that these are for him. He’s three months old.”

“I know, but mom found a sale or something on what she called essentials for the three to nine month old, so I’m not gonna complain if she wrapped up ten packages of diapers and formula. We’ll use them.”

“Ellen’s sure getting into this grandma stuff,” Sam remarked, separating the packages into piles. Dean would swear he saw a little bit of excitement in his eyes as he found one with a glittery homemade tag that read ‘Sam’.

“ _Getting_ into it?” Gwen sat in one straight backed dining chair and crossed her legs. “You not been paying attention since his birth?”

“I’ve been paying attention. It’s just…she’s paying for a lot. Diapers, wipes, formula, clothes, car seat. I could keep listing things off?”

Dean picked up a gift addressed to him. “Jack’s her only grandkid and she never thought she have any. I think a little excess is okay.”

“A little?” Sam raised a brow and gestured to the largest pile of presents. “Exhibit ‘A’ labeled ‘Jack’.” He gestured at the much smaller pile with his other hand. “Exhibit ‘B’ labeled either ‘Jo’, ‘Dean’, ‘Gwen’, or ‘Sam’.”

“You want more gifts,” Jo asked. “I didn’t do gifts this year, but I can totally run out and get you something before the stores close if you want.”

“Sweet thought, Jo, but no. I just think she bought too much.”

“Okay, but say the word and I’m at the store.”

Christmas eve was a quiet affair, just the four of them, drinking eggnog and watching the bloodiest action movie they could find to offset a month of Ellen’s Christmas rituals they’d endured. However, when they went off to bed Dean discovered Jo had told a lie in regards to not having shopped.

On his side of the bed was a present, not a big one, but prettily wrapped. Dean picked it up and shook it. It wasn’t heavy, nor did it make much of a sound. Some kind of clothing? “Thought you didn’t shop?”

“It wasn’t special Christmas shopping. We were at the store anyway and I saw those and…. Open it.”

She looked like she was trying not to burst into laughter, making little snorting noises as her expression wavered back and forth between pleased and devious.

He opened the present and when the contents were exposed, he understood the grin and laughter. Dean held up the underwear with the Batman symbol on them and studied them. While he’d known they made such things for grown men, he’d never expected Jo to actually shell out money for them. As he looked at them, he got an idea for future fun. “Let’s make a deal here, Jo.”

She crossed her arms. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll wear these for you if you’ll wear a little something for me at a later date.”

Jo considered that a minute. “You’ll actually wear those? You know I meant them as a gag gift, right?”

“Uh-huh. I know. But I’ll wear them, if you wear something for me later.”

“What would that something be?”

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head. “My choice and to be revealed whenever I decide it’s time.”

Still grinning, she bit her lip a second, then nodded. “Deal.” She held out her hand and they shook on it.

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’m willing to be held.”

“You want to see me in these now?”

“Of course. Strip.” From downstairs came Sam’s laughter and Jo giggled. “Gwen got Sam the Superman ones,” she blurted out.

“You two are trouble,” he told her.

“I bet her ten bucks he won’t wear them.”

“I’ll bet you ten he will if she asks the right way.” He’d bet Gwen had figured out the right way to ask, too.

“Deal.”

They shook on it and his fashion show commenced a few minutes later, though he declined Jo’s offer of some catwalk music.

Christmas day was a required party at Bobby’s. Dean wondered if Bobby put up with Ellen’s party because he enjoyed it or because he’d given up trying to get his way with her around. Could be either or a bit of both.

He even caught Bobby giving Ellen a peck under the mistletoe Dean had tacked above one door. It was a quick kiss and nothing that should have set off any alarms, yet Dean saw something on both their faces that made him immediately join Sam at the desk and gesture at Bobby and Ellen with his beer bottle. “You see what I see?”

“A friendly kiss?”

“Huh. You think they…” He shrugged. “I mean they spend a lot of time together here and going out on jobs. Things happen.”

“Bobby and Ellen?” Sam barely looked over at them. “You think?”

“Huh,” he repeated. “Probably my imagination. You feel up to a poltergeist in Montana next week?”

“Is it definitely a poltergeist?”

“Looks like. Family is out of town right now, but willing to meet us there.”

“Sure. Start the year off with a bang.” Sam’s gaze shifted to the middle of the room. Gwen was on the floor with Jack, playing with him on a blanket.

Dean chuckled. “Might as well. So…. Superman. You got any plans with her this year? Anything…special?”

“Superman,” he repeated and sighed. “Was it Jo or Gwen told you?”

“Jo.”

“Right.”

“You wear them?”

“Inappropriate, Dean. I’m not asking if you wore the ones Jo gave you, though I assume you did.”

“Why would you assume that?”

Sam stared at him. “Really? _You_ have to ask that question?”

Maybe it was a stupid question. Dean let it go, but persisted on the other. “Come on, Sam. I have money on this. Yes or no?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t?”

“No, I mean I’m not answering.”

Dean watched him with eyes narrowed slightly, noting the mild touch of holiday appropriate red on Sam’s cheekbones, a faint indication of either anger or embarrassment. With a mental coin toss, he decided it was the latter. “You totally wore them. I knew it. Bet she was naked when she asked, too.”

“You’re impossible and inappropriate.” 

“Thank you. Plans with her then? Aside from the Lois Lane--Clark Kent thing, I mean.”

Sam paused in raising his glass to drink, rolled his eyes, and asked, “Like what?” He was trying for casual and would have fooled anyone but Dean. His mind was working on something.

“I don’t know. Anything. Vacation, something nice. You’re always telling me to do nice things for Jo. Can’t I tell you to do something nice for Gwen? Do something nice for her.”

“Am I supposed to have plans?”

Again, he shrugged. “It’s just you’ve been watching her awfully hard whenever we’re back here.” Watching, staring, studying…making sure she was still there. Dean knew all about that sort of looking.

“I can’t look at my girlfriend? You look at Jo all the time. I like looking at Gwen.” He took a long drink. “Besides, after her disappearing, I _want_ to look at her more, you know?”

Dean nodded. “I do.” When they’d finally gotten Jo back to her self, he hadn’t gotten tired of looking at her -- just to make sure she was really there. “I figure we’ll take the poltergeist, see if we can hit up something on the way back, then Jo and Gwen can go out to one of the properties while we take a week off.” Alarm flashed in Sam’s eyes, but Dean went on before he could say anything. “Timeline, Sam. I put the properties forward as a job I could deal with Jo doing. I can’t backtrack now no matter how much I want to. I told her I was fine with it and I’m going to be fine with it, just like you’ll be fine with Gwen going with her.”

He snorted. “No. Not fine.” Sam drained his glass. “But I’ll white-knuckle it, I guess. No way you and I can tackle jobs and those properties for the box, too. Even if we get Ellen and Bobby helping…. It’s too much.” He sighed. “Fine.” 

They’d finish out the year at their home base and hit the new year hard.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo knelt behind Dean, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her cheek against his back. While he’d shared his plan for January, she knew she had to approach this matter with a little delicacy. “I got an email from Mary-Louise Sheffield.”

“And?”

“The auction is at the end of the month. The flapper dress,” she reminded him, keeping her voice soft and tone neutral.

He grasped her hands with his, caressing. “Then let’s attend an auction.”

“You and me? Outside together? You feeling okay, sweetheart?” She pressed a series of slow, lingering kisses along his spine to the base of his neck, then rested her chin on his shoulder.

“Why not? Not like Sam and Gwen can’t baby sit. They’re both pretty good with Jack and like you said before, it’s a pick-up, right?” He turned his head, looking at her. “Unless there’s something you haven’t shared with me about it?”

“It’s just a pick-up. Nothing more.”

“Okay then. We’ll go.”

“You’re sure?” Sam and Gwen baby sit? While she and Dean went out to the auction? Jo shifted position so that she was beside him and not behind him. “You’re absolutely serious, Dean?” What had changed? Why was he okay with the two of them being out at the same time now?

“I am.” He slid one arm around her waist and dragged her across his lap. “Besides, we could meet some interesting people there.”

“Doubtful.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Never know the kind of people you’ll find there. Could be fun.”

She smiled and reached up, sliding her fingers along his cheek. “Now I know you’re not feeling well. What’s going on? What are you up to?”

“Feelin’ fine.” He leaned down, lips caressing hers for a long moment. “Happy New Year.”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Jo.”

They rang in the New Year a little late in a most satisfactory way.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wasn’t sure what woke him up. He laid still in bed, listening, thinking he might still be dreaming and not really awake. Jo was asleep beside him, curled on her side and he touched her face with his fingertips, lightly caressing. He heard the furnace come on and had just decided it was something in his dream that had woken him when he heard the creak of the rocker in Jack’s room through the monitor.

It was a slight noise that normally wouldn’t worry him except Jo was still with him and Sam and Gwen rarely came up in the middle of the night. Not to mention he suspected Sam and Gwen were passed out. They’d been celebrating the New Year pretty hard. They’d done the drinking and he’d kept on pouring, glad to see both of them having fun.

He sat up. Those noises…. 

It sounded like something, or some _one_ , feeding.

He was wide awake then, grabbing the gun he kept by the bed and running from their room to the doorway of Jack’s room. He aimed as he went through the door. For a brief second, Dean had the horrible image of the past with Sam as a baby repeating itself, a demon stealing into their home for nefarious purposes. But then he realized it was Abigael holding Jack, giving him a bottle and smiling gently down at him while she rocked him.

She glanced up, still smiling and looking completely unaware that he’d been about to shoot her. Not that a bullet would do much to her save annoy her. “Hello Dean. Happy New Year.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” he told her, reaching out with one hand and turning the monitor off so Jo wouldn’t wake up. His other hand, shaking, laid the gun on the dresser. His heart was beating faster than he’d thought it possible to beat and still be alive and he decided it was a real possibility that he might throw-up right there in the doorway. “It’s four in the freakin’ morning.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to wake up.”

“What are you doing here?” He edged closer, half afraid she’d disappear and take Jack with her. His goal was to get close and snatch Jack from her.

She rocked. “I like babies and Jack’s the only one I know personally at present.”

“Uh-huh. What happened to human behavior? Popping into my house at four in the morning to hold my baby isn’t exactly non-creepy, Abby. Does Cas know you’re here?”

“Of course he knows.”

“Of course he knows. Of _course_ he knows?”

“You’re repeating yourself, Dean.”

“I’m….” He moved closer. “Rule number one: You don’t come in here in the middle of the night. I _will_ angel proof this house.”

Alarm flashed in her eyes. “Dean --”

“Shut it until I’m done. Rule number two: You ask before touching him or I will end you.”

“I mean him no harm.” She set the bottle aside and burped Jack. He let out one loud belch and a softer one. It occurred to him that she looked like she’d had plenty of practice at it, not to mention Jack seemed at ease with her.

“Your ears clogged? I said shut it until I’m done. Rule number three: You claim you want to act human then you act it from the driveway all the way through this house. No angel powers, no popping in, and no midnight visits unless you walk up and knock. Am I understood?”

She didn’t look away, her stare just as intense as Castiel’s could be. “Yes.”

“Let me have him.” He held out his hands, gesturing. They were still trembling.

“Of course.” She said it like there was no doubt that she’d give Jack to him. Abigael held Jack up for him. “Here. I meant no harm to him, Dean. I never have and never will.”

“Maybe, but this is my family and my base, Abby. Any supernatural creature that comes here, you and Castiel included, can be a potential threat.”

“I do understand. You’re protecting your own.”

“ _Do_ you understand?”

“I’m sorry I frightened and startled you. It was hardly my intention. I also apologize for arriving so late at night. I wasn’t entirely certain you’d allow me to visit Jack.”

“Sneaking in isn’t the way to get permission.”

“May I come see him?”

“Come by tomorrow afternoon and we’ll talk about it.”

She nodded. “I will.”

He followed her downstairs and let her out the front door. She did as he asked, walking to the end of the driveway before disappearing. Dean let out a relieved sigh, holding Jack tight to him, and closed the door. He stayed awake the rest of the night, holding on to his son and thanking God and everyone he could think of that the visit had apparently been innocent.

After he was through being relieved, then Dean got angry.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean’s pissed.”

Castiel’s voice was hard and harsh and Abigael looked up at him. He stood over her with his hands in his coat pockets and a stern expression on his face. “I realize that.”

“He… _insisted_ I speak to you. I’ve just spent an unpleasant half hour getting yelled at by him for allowing your behavior. The words ‘incompetent’ and ‘moron’ were used several times along with many of Dean’s favorite swear words.” 

“I meant no harm.”

“You and I know that, but he doesn’t. You _did_ review the details of his life, including childhood?”

“Yes --”

“Then you should understand why I told you to make certain he’s unaware of your nighttime visits.”

In truth, she’d reviewed so much information in such a little amount of time and on so many subjects concerning Dean and Jo and Sam as well, that one important detail had slipped by her. It was a crucial detail that had shaped the family into what it was today. She avoided Castiel’s eyes. ‘I forgot’ wasn’t going to cut it here.

He sat beside her, expression softening slightly. “You forgot, didn’t you.”

“There is the…possibility that the information got lost among the other bits of information I studied,” she admitted.

Am uncharacteristic bark of laughter left him and he shook his head. “Fix this, Abigael. Whatever you have to do to make them at ease with your presence in the child’s life. They’ll dictate terms. You’ll agree to them.”

“Dean already gave me rules.”

“There will be more.” He glanced at her. “Jo wasn’t awake then and the fierce protection of Dean for his child is nothing compared to what a mother will do for her children. Be apologetic and watch your words.” He gestured in the general direction of the house, several miles as the bird flew. “Go.”

She materialized in the middle of the road and walked to the door, pressing the doorbell. Dean, a large black trash bag in hand, let her in and directed her to sit on the couch and not move until they were ready to talk with her.

Sam and Gwen were still in their pajamas, though it was closing in on three in the afternoon. They were at the table, both with cups of coffee in front of them. It didn’t look to her like they’d touched the coffee. Sam had his head in his hands and was staring at the table. Gwen had her head down and was moaning every time Dean dumped a bottle into the trash bag -- which was often. Beer bottles littered the floor and flat surfaces and Abigael realized they’d had quite a party the night before.

New Years Eve, she remembered. Today was the first day of 2014.

Jo came downstairs with Jack and paced in front of her, holding the infant. Her stare was everything Castiel had hinted her manner would be. Dean had made her aware of the late visit and Jo wasn’t thrilled in the least by it. If her expression was any indication, she had quite a few things to say.

Suddenly, Sam bellowed, “Dean! Could you stop with the noise already?”

Gwen raised her head and glared at him before wincing and putting her head back down.

“You’re the lush who didn’t know when to stop drinking.”

“You’re the one who kept pouring,” Gwen pointed out. She gripped the edge of the table as though it was the only thing keeping her from sliding off her chair and onto the floor and sat up. “I’ve never been this hungover in my entire life. And that includes after Christian and Arlene took me out for my twenty-first birthday.” Her voice was a careful almost-whisper.

“Stop. Throwing. Things.” Sam pressed his palms to his head and groaned.

“Sure. Since you asked so nicely.” He picked up a bottle that was still mostly full and approached the table, waggling it at Sam. “Have some hair of the dog, you’ll be fine.”

Sam gulped. “You suck.” He got up and brushed past Dean. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Take some pain pills and drink a glass of water,” Jo told him as he passed her.

He slammed the door behind him, but the effect he was likely going for was ruined when he let out a noise of pain, a faint ‘damn it’ reaching them.

Gwen slowly let go of the table edge and stretched out a hand, grabbing one of the pairs of sunglasses on the table. She slid a pair on and sighed. “Much better.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed, too,” Jo suggested, briefly lifting her attention off of Abigael.

“Nah. I think I’m hungry.”

Dean went back to cleaning up. “Greasy cheeseburgers in the fridge.”

“Sadist,” Gwen replied, but she got up and staggered into the kitchen. A minute later the microwave was running, the smell of hamburgers in the air.

“What’s the significance of the cheeseburgers,” Abigael asked Jo.

“Hangover food.”

“Oh.” While she didn’t think the greasy food would help, having never been hungover she could be mistaken on that.

Finally, when Dean had dragged out the cleaning for nearly half an hour after Abigael’s arrival, he tied the bag and took it outside before coming to the chair beside the couch and sitting down. He stretched his legs out. “We need a few rules, Abigael.”

“I believe those were established early this morning. They aren’t unreasonable rules. I’ll follow them.”

“You damn well better,” Jo snapped.

“I’m sorry. Given the circumstances of the past, I should have realized what my visit would look like and it won’t happen again. I was in error.”

“In error.” Jo handed Jack to Dean. “In error. Yeah, you were in pretty much big fu --”

“Jo.” Dean nodded at Abigael, as though reminding her that she _was_ talking to an angel.

It was obvious what her language was going to be, but at the nod, she changed her wording. “Freakin’ error. Three of us in this house have been manipulated and used by angels. It’s just common sense that we’d be suspicious of any angel who shows up in the middle of the night to visit our son. Even Castiel.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I do like children. I mean him no harm. He’s a very precious child and I’m fascinated by his development. Already he has a personality and he’s growing so fast.” She tried to push the fascination aspect. It was something they’d understand from their interactions with Castiel. It was something that might make this better for them. She shrugged. “To think that he’ll grow into an adult like the both of you is a wondrous thing to behold and to see the process unfold in front of me is…. Do you understand? Few angels have ever had the chance to witness a child growing to adulthood from a close perspective.”

“You’re just trying to understand child development,” Dean asked, though there was still suspicion there in his voice.

Jo studied her. “Once a week, supervised visits for an hour or two, cleared through whichever one of us has him. If those go well, we can renegotiate after a month. Is that fair, Dean?”

He grunted. “I guess, but if you take off with him, Abby, we will hunt you down and kill you.”

“The only reason I’d take him was if you asked it of me.”

“Good to know. Don’t count on that happening soon, but nice to have the option.”

Gwen stumbled out of the kitchen and across the living room to the bedroom door. She still had the sunglasses on and bumped into the couch twice on her way to the bedroom.

Abigael looked from Dean to Jo and back. “May I hold him now?”

“You held him last night,” Jo said. “This visit is visual only.”

She remained for two hours, sitting on the couch making small talk with Jo and Dean, then left through the front door and met Castiel at the end of the driveway. “It’s done,” she told him. “I think they believe me that I’m interested in his development.”

“You _are_ interested. Try to be more careful in the future. Don’t make Dean any more suspicious than he already is.”

She nodded and let her shoulders slump a little once he was gone. She was making human errors and needed to remedy that as quickly as possible because, while she may be passing as one, she wasn’t a human and needed to remember that.


	17. Chapter 17

While Dean had planned out January, it didn’t go quite according to the schedule. Things rarely did.

Gwen sighed.

The poltergeist case had ended in the poor family’s house blowing up, though the poltergeist was now gone and none of them had died. The family hadn’t seen the bright side in that and Gwen couldn’t blame them. They probably hadn’t expected to lose all of their possessions.

Dean and Sam had investigated ghost echoes and a possible vampire attack as well before returning home so Gwen and Jo could take one of the properties. Unfortunately, no sooner had they reached the driveway then plans had taken a swerve onto a different path. 

It’s like dominoes, Gwen reflected, filling a large bowl with icy water and dipping three fresh washcloths into it until they were soaked. Dominoes of sickness. First Dean got the flu, then Jo, and finally Sam. She suspected Sam had lasted longer because of how much healthier he ate than either Dean or Jo. Jo had occasional indulgences and Sam rarely did. Gwen and Jack were the only ones untouched by the flu and Jack was with Ellen in hopes that he wouldn’t get it. A baby with the flu wasn’t something Gwen really wanted to deal with on top of the other three.

Flu sweeping their house and base meant there was no trip for Jo and Gwen to one of the properties unless Gwen bailed on her nursing duties with all of them and she hadn’t thought she should considering how hard they’d been hit with it. There was no way the three could take care of themselves, let alone each other. Not in their state.

Two months down and only four left.

The thought rose up unbidden and she paused, staring at the backsplash on the kitchen wall behind the sink. It wasn’t quite two months, but it was close enough. Whenever she remembered how fast time was flying, she got a trembling in her stomach that, if she didn’t force herself to stop thinking about it, would work outwards until she found her hands trembling as well. Dean had been right. Time was hardly on their side.

Dean and Sam had both stopped teasing her about her sunny side since it was barely on view anymore due to the threat hanging over her head. It was hard to look at things positively when there was so much stacked against her in this.

Gwen took a slow deep breath, banishing the thoughts, grabbed up the thermometer and the bowl, and headed upstairs to Dean and Jo’s bedroom.

Dean was awake and on his back, sweat slicking his skin. He’d been staring at the ceiling and transferred his attention to her when she walked in. “How is it you’re not sick?” There were dark shadows under his eyes and his skin had a pasty look to it. His voice was a bit nasally still and when he coughed it had a congested sound. He’d been hit the hardest by the flu, though not to hear Jo talk about it. She kept maintaining she’d have to die to feel better.

Gwen turned on the bedside light, then set the bowl on the nightstand and wrung one cloth out before gently laying it on his forehead. A soft sigh of relief left him. “I got a flu shot and yes, sometimes they do pick the right strain for it.”

He grunted. “And here I thought it was those Supergirl genes.” There was a faint hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’re feeling better.”

“Everything doesn’t hurt quite so much as it did and I kept the Pedialyte down this time.”

“Good boy.” It was about time he kept something down. She’d been thinking he might need intravenous nausea medicine and had been fully prepared to beg, borrow or steal some for him from Bobby’s medical supplies contact. Gwen took Dean’s temperature with the ear thermometer and grinned as it beeped. “Your fever’s broken. Temp is normal. Want to try some dry toast?”

He actually considered it a full ten seconds before grunting again. “Maybe later. How about some nice pain pills instead?”

When those had been taken and he was back lying down, Gwen broached a new subject with him, one she hadn’t been able to until now because of the fever. “I could…head out to the auction for you, grab the dress.” She’d been looking at the file and the notes, reading through what Jo had put together and the extra notes both Sam and Dean had added recently. Dean had written some cryptic comments that had her scratching her head trying to figure them out.

Dean frowned. “How many days have I been sick?”

“Nearly a week.”

“Auction is next week then.”

“It is.” He’d marked it on the calendar.

“How bad is Jo?”

“She’s been sick just as long as you and Sam’s a day behind.” She watched him a long moment. “Dean, you might not be up to the drive after having the flu for a week. I don’t mind going. I haven’t been to an auction in years.”

“When were you last at an auction?”

“Mom took me with her once when I was thirteen. She got me a necklace and earring set, though I’ve never worn them. At least she said they were from the auction. I didn’t pay too much attention to what was up for sale. There was a really cute boy there…. Mom said she’d hang on to them for me for when I got older and they ended up put away with her things after she died. It was too hard for me to take them then and I forgot about them. Jo and I found them in one of the last boxes we had here, still in the fancy case. It was sitting right on top.” She’d taken out the case and opened it, touching the stones that seemed to shimmer under the light, the memory of her mother giving her the set rising up. Patricia had stressed the importance of Gwen taking the jewelry and wearing them at a later date. She’d practically ordered her to.

Jo had told her she should get Sam to take her somewhere fancy and wear the set since she had it. ‘Might as well get some use out of it’ she’d said.

“Patricia liked auctions?”

“Sometimes. Dad thought they were a waste of time, but she’d just go anyway. She’d bring home boxes of sheets, things like that that we used. A dollar here, a five there. It wasn’t something she did all the time, just in certain areas. She had a couple auction places that she watched. I remember once she made dad drive two states for an auction and didn’t end up buying anything. He was totally pissed.”

His lips parted like he was going to say something, but then he shook his head. “Can’t think straight. Um…. No. Jo and I’ll still go.” He turned his head on the pillow. “Where’s Jo anyway?”

“I let her sleep on the bathroom floor. It was just easier.”

“How’s Jack doing? He okay?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked about Jack. He and Jo had both, even in fever delirium, been concerned for their son. “He’s with Ellen,” she reminded him, “and she says he’s just fine. Eating like he has a hollow leg.”

“That’s my boy. Sam?”

“About like you and Jo. Like I said, a day behind in symptoms. He’ll be fine. You all will in a day or two.”

“And you’re not even sniffling.”

“Or coughing, headachy, feverish…. Nope. I’m fine.” She was too. Not even a strange ache or sore throat.

“Mmm. I’m gonna sleep awhile. Try to anyway.”

“Wise idea.” She left the cool cloth and mostly closed the bedroom door on her way out. Her next stop was to check on Jo, who was sleeping fitfully, her fever still hovering right at 100° . Gwen blotted her face with one of the cloths and kept rewetting it from the tap until Jo settled back down, her sleep a bit more restful. “Your fever will probably break by morning,” she whispered partly to herself and left Jo to check on Sam.

As she stepped into the living room and half closed the door upstairs, she heard Sam throwing up again and winced before moving to the bathroom door. “Hey. I was going to ask if you felt better yet, but I guess not, huh?”

He groaned. “I have nothing in my stomach. Why am I still puking?”

“Want to try the antacid again? Or some Pedialyte?”

She’d swear he turned faintly green at the suggestion. “No. How’s Dean?”

“On the mend. Jo’s still sleeping in the upstairs bathroom, but her fever is starting to go down.”

After a long moment, he got up and brushed his teeth. The hand that grasped the water glass shook. He washed his face, then stumbled past her, getting as far as the couch before collapsing. Sam groaned again. “I haven’t been this sick in years.”

“Want your bucket?”

“Yes.”

She retrieved the bucket she’d placed by their bedside and set it on the floor next to him. With Sam occupied on the couch, she took the opportunity to strip their bed and wash the sheets, then clean the bedroom. From upstairs, she heard the sounds of the shower running. By the time two hours had passed, she was able to get Sam back in the bedroom and make the rounds of checking on the other two. She found Dean already in the bathroom with Jo. He’d showered and changed clothes and was gathering Jo up, blanket and all.

“Come on. Let’s put you in bed. You’ll rest better there.”

Jo made a weak noise of protest but didn’t fight him.

For a moment, Gwen thought they were going to stagger into the railing and fall down the stairs, but Dean remained standing. Had to be a miracle in his weakened condition. Gwen helped him put Jo to bed then cleaned that bathroom. The house hadn’t been this clean in awhile. She’d spent more time cleaning and doing laundry the past week than anything else, though she’d managed to get a little work done and checked on Sophie.

There’d been no progress on Mick’s disappearance and no evidence that he’d been taken by something or killed. He was just gone, like he’d finished the job and left town. It was what they did except he would have called Sophie. He always did. Sophie had reached the anger stage and was swearing death on anything or anyone that may have harmed him. She also mentioned that her dad was thinking about leaving Alaska to help her search for Mick, which meant Sophie really was in a bad way. Chris rarely left Alaska at all. Gwen wondered once if Mick had fallen afoul of a Trickster, then decided she didn’t like dwelling on that subject and stopped thinking about Mick because it reminded her of her own circumstances.

By morning, Dean was headed back to his normal self, Jo’s fever had broken, and Sam began the last leg of the flu where the fever once more worsened. Within two days, all were better, if a little weak still, and Gwen was glad to have nursing duties finished.

Ellen brought Jack back, her exclamations over how good he’d been not quite matching up with the bags under her eyes and the constant yawns. Dean and Jo had two days with their son before they left to go to the auction. They made the most of the hours, playing with him, reading to him, and holding him. During the middle of their goodbyes, Gwen realized it was the first time Dean and Jo had left Jack with anyone to go on a trip together. She wondered how many times they’d call for updates.

Sam closed the front door and took off his coat. He and Dean had been talking in hushed tones outside by the Impala and Gwen assumed it was last minute instructions about Jack. “So.”

“So?” She laid Jack in his crib.

“Alone with Jack.”

She smiled and covered Jack with a small blanket. “Alone with Jack,” she agreed. He was settling down for a nap, his eyes closing and the pacifier wiggling as he sucked on it. He sighed, the wiggling stopped and he was asleep. Gwen wished she could fall asleep so quickly these days. “He’s napping now.”

He stepped close, an arm sliding about her waist. “Any more boxes left?”

“No. Jo and I went through all of them.”

“What property were you going to go to?”

“There was one in Montana that looks promising from satellite. The building is fairly large and I’ve done as much research as I can.” She took his hand in hers and tugged him to the table where she’d been working. “Here. Look.” Gwen handed Sam the papers.

“Another compound?”

“Looks like, but we won’t know until we get there. Could be just storage.”

“Have you researched the other places on the list?”

“All Jo and I’ve done is get whatever information we can from here. All that’s left is to go to them one by one.” She showed him the papers for the rest, each sorted into it’s own envelope.

He took his time reading through them. “Wait a minute….” Sam flipped back and forth between two pages. “This is in West Virginia.”

“Yeah. So?”

“We got a map handy?” When she’d spread one out, he found first one town, then another. “Look at that.” Sam pointed at the one town. “This is where our property is. This,” he moved his finger to the other town, “is where Mick disappeared. There’s maybe ten miles between them. Odd coincidence.”

She had to agree with that. “It is odd, but probably means nothing.”

“I don’t like coincidences like that. They tend to mean bad things. Dean and I’ll take that one since we’re going there anyway to investigate Mick.”

“Jo and I’ll go to Montana like we’d planned.”

They worked for awhile longer, until Jack woke and it became a game trying to figure out why he was still crying after they’d changed him, fed him, burped him, and held him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Caring for a baby had been a helluva lot easier when Ellen was in her twenties. She simply couldn’t do the low sleep thing anymore and after awhile, the crying became grating. She hadn’t wanted him to get sick though, remembering rather well all the times Jo had had the flu growing up. If she could postpone Jack having it as long as possible, she would.

She peered at the computer screen. It wasn’t the website she was working on right now or the message board, it was Bobby’s business accounts. Ellen looked down at the papers on the table and back at the screen. She’d been going through it all most of the day, helping him out with invoices and the like, and the numbers were beginning to swim a little in front of her eyes. It was the one part of running a business she hadn’t particularly cared for. The paperwork. She’d loved talking to the people and managing the staff and customers, but the paperwork she’d hated. Dry, boring numbers…. But she was good at it.

Bobby came across the room, startling her a little as she hadn’t heard him come into the house. “You wanna grab some dinner, Ellen?”

The tone of his voice was odd and she sat back, turning her head and looking up at him. He was carefully not looking at her, that tone nonchalant enough that she realized he wasn’t simply asking her if she’d want to get food. “You askin’ me on a date, Bobby Singer?” She tried to sound teasing and playful, lighthearted.

He adjusted his cap. “If you’re interested, then yes. If not, then it’s just dinner.”

Her mouth suddenly seemed dry. He was asking her on a date. Ellen saved her work and began straightening up. A date. She hadn’t been on a real date in months. Years, she corrected. Had it really been that long? “Thought you and Jodie were seeing each other.”

He shrugged. “I kissed her once. We both shuddered and decided we’re better as friends, though she’s damn fine in a swimsuit.”

She considered the question of dinner. She’d had dinner with him many times. Did she want to make it a date? Ellen blinked. Why not? “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I wanna grab some dinner. You want me to put on a face or is naked fine?”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “A woman naked is always fine, Ellen.” There was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Sweet talker.” She smiled, shut down the computer, and stood. “I’m ready if you are. Got a place in mind?”

The only difference between this dinner and the other dinners they’d had was that Ellen wondered if he’d kiss her later. When he did, it was reminiscent of that peck Christmas Day: a soft query that brought back memories of other such kisses throughout her life. Pleasant, warm, friendly, familiar in a way and still very new. It was gentlemanly and an indication he was just as afraid as she was that they’d screw up their friendly relationship if they pushed things. Ellen went home with that kiss playing through her mind over an over.

Maybe, it was okay to push things. Change, she decided, was a good thing and she was ready for a little change in her life. Why not? Could bring good things and hadn’t she decided back when she’d regained her memories that she wasn’t going to look back? She was going to go forward and take whatever came her way.

She still knew how to work her assets and Bobby wasn’t going to know what hit him.

~~~~~~~~~~

He should still be in bed, he and Jo both. Dean pressed a hand to his stomach and took a slow deep breath. While they’d recovered for the most part, there was a lingering fatigue remaining coupled with a queasy stomach that came and went. Neither he or Jo had been able to eat much of anything the past few days. He raised his glass and sipped at the fizzy liquid Jo had gotten him. Tasted like Sprite and he grimaced. 

Jo had thought they were going to pick up the dress before the auction and leave, but he’d actually had other things in mind, like the certainty that Veronica Bennett was going to be there. They needed to talk to her. He knew Jo wanted that dress, but he’d rather get Gwen in touch with her grandparents, _then_ get the dress. He had it all planned out. Maybe it’d even go according to the plan. 

“Hello, Dean.”

He turned. Think of the devil and there she was…. Veronica Bennett was behind him in what he thought was the same suit she’d worn at the last auction. “Ronnie. Veronica Bennett. Or Nicki. Which do you prefer?”

“Nicki to my acquaintances, Ronnie to my friends, and Nic to my husband.” Her smile was delighted. “You found me out. I had faith you would. Who told you?”

“Rufus Turner, though to be fair, I’d found out a few things before he showed up.”

“Rufus….” Her glance slid upwards as she thought and then she was nodding. “Ahh yes, Rufus. How is he these days?”

“Causing trouble up and down the west coast last I heard.”

“And the east coast and everywhere between,” she added, obviously familiar with his work. Ronnie gestured towards Jo, who was at the refreshment table with her back to them. “The woman you came in with. Your wife?”

“She is.”

Ronnie looped her arm chummily through his and began leading him towards the table. “Introduce me, dear boy. Is your brother here as well?”

“He’s back at our base. Ham come with you this time or did you leave him at home?”

“My, Rufus did tell all, didn’t he?”

“And a few things besides,” he admitted.

“Mmm. No, Ham isn’t with me this trip.”

He made the introductions. “Jo, this is Veronica Bennett. We met at the last auction through a mutual acquaintance, Denise Atwater.”

“Ahh, yes. Denise.” He saw a flicker of recognition as Jo placed the name. “Dear Denise.” In other words, ‘dear Denise who’d funded them for awhile with the amount she’d paid them’.

“Please call me Ronnie,” Ronnie told her, releasing Dean’s arm. “We wives should stick together.”

Exactly what she’d told him and Sam. “That could be dangerous,” Dean muttered and took a sip of the soda in his glass.

Jo’s brows rose. “You’re in the business as well?” The sentence was said in a careful manner, Jo doing that same assessing thing women do with each other that Ronnie was doing to her, taking in everything about her and drawing conclusions.

Maybe it was weird, but Dean enjoyed watching Jo assess other women. Her conclusions were many times spot-on.

“For a very long time. I’d like to invite both of you to join me for dinner. We can relax and talk then, discuss…the business. There’s a delightful German restaurant a couple blocks over called ‘Bierhaus’. Shall we say seven?”

Jo shrugged. “Fine with me.”

He stared at Ronnie. “Who’s buying?”

“I am. I’ve decided that wager was unfair to you, since there was never a chance of you winning it.”

“Wager,” Jo asked, head turning and gaze fixing on him. “Dean? What wager?”

“Don’t be late. After dinner we can have a toast.” Ronnie gestured towards the raised dais. “I believe your item is next.” Instead of staying, she sauntered to the door and out of it.

“Damn it,” Dean said softly, suddenly realizing that Ronnie and Ham had pulled what he and Jo should have. “Left Ham home my ass.”

“Dean? What’s going on?” Jo frowned. “Who was she?”

“That’s where he was.”

“Where who was?”

“I should have anticipated that, but he didn’t seem….” He was confusing her and wasn’t sure how to explain in public without Jo getting upset. “Watch.” He pointed at the dais.

It was quickly clear that the dress was gone. The auctioneer tried to cover it up, but the presence of security suddenly all over the place pointed to that end. By the time he and Jo were able to leave, it was nearly seven, so they went directly to the restaurant, which was just like the name implied: beer served in tall wide mugs and generous portions of food that Ronnie assured them was authentic.

Too bad Dean couldn’t eat much. He chanced a beer though.

They made small talk and ate, and after dessert, Dean laid a picture on the table and with his index finger, slid it across to her. “You know this man?”

Ronnie’s genial smile faded and she glanced up at him with a frown before looking back down. “The one there is Neal Campbell, that one is Billy Harvelle --”

“Billy,” Jo crossed her arms on the table and leaned over a little.

“Billy,” she confirmed. “The one in the middle was Aaron Bennett, but I think you already knew all of that, didn’t you, Dean?” Her polite mask was cracking, emotion peeking through.

“Bennett,” Jo repeated. She was working out what Dean already suspected in her head, putting it together fast. In his glance her way, he saw it click into place. “Was he your son?”

“He was. May I ask what this is about? I loved my son deeply, but he’s dead and has been for over thirty years. The other two are dead as well, so why show me a picture of the Three Musketeers?” Her voice was tight.

“Why do you call them that,” Dean inquired.

“Because they worked as a team sometimes, all cavalier attitudes and the other sort of behavior young men get up to. Billy we approved of. He was a nice boy and we got along with his kin. Neal though…. Well, I _guess_ he liked Aaron.” Her tone made it clear she was in doubt of that fact.

“When did they work together?” Jo was leaning forward further, an eager light in her eyes. “My mom said my dad usually worked alone.”

Ronnie’s face seemed to close up, emotion shuttering down. She pursed her lips, studying Jo. “You a Campbell, girl?”

The way she said it was like a curse leaving her mouth. She fairly spat the name and it surprised Dean. He blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that some might hate the Campbell family, though with what they’d discovered about their family it shouldn’t surprise him. Suffering from rampant paranoia didn’t tend to make making friends with other hunters easy.

Jo was visibly taken aback by the vehemence with which Ronnie said the name, a brow twitching and her lips pressing together in an irritated line. “No. I was a Harvelle before I married Dean. My dad was Bill Harvelle.”

“Oh.” Now Ronnie’s features softened. “I do remember he had a daughter…. He was a good man, Jo, and from a very good, old family.”

Dean laid down a second picture. “How about this picture?”

Tension grew in the air, Ronnie’s mood plummeting fast. He was either going to piss her off so that she left in a huff or shock her so that she stayed and talked to them. “Aaron, the scheming slut witch he married, and I don’t know the child.” As she spoke, emotions slid fast across her face: sadness, regret, and anger.

“Let me help you with that.” The last picture he set down was one of Sam and Gwen together, a candid shot Ellen had taken. Sam had been teasing Gwen about something Dean didn’t remember right now and she’d been laughing. It was a good, flattering picture of Sam and Gwen together. It had been taken right after the two had decided they were a couple.

Ronnie drew in a sharp breath. Why? Why the breath? Was it in response to Gwen’s likeness to her mother Mia or something else? “Sam and? Who is she?” She sounded almost eager to know.

“Your granddaughter. Her name is Gwen and she’s alive and well right now.” He leaned over the table a little. “Normally I’d circle awhile before spitting it out, but we don’t have the time. Your granddaughter’s life is in danger.” He repeated the word ‘granddaughter’, trying to put a connection between Ronnie and Gwen where there was none at present, something that might make Ronnie act.

“Her name is Gwen?” Ronnie stared at the picture, then reached out and picked it up.

“That mean something to you,” Jo asked, fingers raising to tuck her hair behind her ears.

Her denial was too late to be one and sounded choked. “No. Nothing.”

Dean cleared his throat, drawing Ronnie’s attention back to him. “We have four months to locate a box that ended up either in Campbell possession…or yours. Rufus said you cleaned out Aaron’s place after he died, but we know the Campbells got there first. Either or, Ronnie. You or them.” Lastly, he unfolded a copy of the drawing. “This look familiar?”

She stared at it, set the picture of Gwen and Sam down so close to her side of the table that he knew she was going to make off with it, and picked up the drawing with the tips of her fingers. He didn’t mind if she took the picture of them. It was a copy anyway and Ellen could get another printed. Besides, if she took it, it was one step closer to the connection he was trying to force. “Possibly. I’ll have to go through my inventory. May I have your contact information?”

Jo scrawled it across the back of the drawing and within minutes, Ronnie was gone. “How long have you known all of that?” Jo sat back in the booth.

He finished his beer before answering. She didn’t look pissed that he’d withheld some information, merely tired. “Since you and Gwen went to check out that first property. Sam and I met her at that auction and she said a few provocative things. Remember I mentioned Nicki? Well, that’s her. I snapped a picture of her and asked around about her. Bobby didn’t recognize the picture, but Rufus did.”

“Gwen’s grandmother.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got to tell her.” She pulled out her phone, but Dean put a hand over hers, stopping her.

“Not yet.”

“Dean, why not? This is information she needs to know.”

“I agree. She does need to know, but we need to give Ronnie time to stare at her picture and want to meet her. I don’t want to give Gwen the information, have her run out after Ronnie, and be disappointed if Ronnie refuses to see her. We give Ronnie time.”

“And the box? You think she’ll give it to us if she has it?”

That part he wasn’t leaving to chance. He planned to make a detour to the cabin Abraham Bennett owned and discuss the matter personally with Ronnie and Ham both. And he planned to take Sam. If they had it, they’d either give it or Dean would steal it. Dean opened his mouth to reply and saw Ronnie approaching their table.

She still looked upset and her eyes were bloodshot, like she’d cried hard the second she’d left the building. “I almost forgot the toast we’d planned. Would you like to follow me over? Ham should have the fire pit set up.”

“Toast?” Jo reached for her coat.

“The dress, dear. The flapper dress. We need to burn it.”

“Right.” Jo put her coat on. “Shall we, Dean?”

Ham wasn’t at the site and somehow, Dean wasn’t surprised. He was quickly getting the feeling that Rufus was right and Ronnie was the face of that team. It was Ronnie people usually dealt with.

Ronnie took the dress from the box it was in and held it up, giving it a little shake. “It’s too bad, isn’t it, Jo? A beautiful dress.”

Stretching out one hand, Jo touched the dress, a finger tracing one beaded flower design. “It’s pretty.”

“Well, shall we torch it?”

The two of them laid the dress on the fire pit, spreading it out so the flames would be evenly distributed. Ronnie handed her a lighter and one to Dean as well. It didn’t take long for the fabric to catch.

Dean cleared his throat. “Can you tell us why this dress was so important? We know the Campbell family was chasing it from about the time it was created.”

Ronnie stared at the flames. “The family of witches that created it has been a thorn in the sides of various hunting families for a very long time. To track this thing down and finally destroy it is like freeing all of us from them. Not literally, you understand. As far as I know, there’s a couple of them out there somewhere still.”

“We think Mia was from an old witch family.” Jo put her hands in her pockets. “Maybe the one who cursed the dress.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. They’d promised death on the Campbells and a few others and Aaron would have gotten her close.”

“Yeah, well, Mia’s dead,” Dean told Ronnie. “She got possessed by the demon she raised and Jo shot her.”

“Good riddance. After seeing what she did to my only son, death is too good for her. Can you imagine receiving a phone call telling you to clear out your son’s home before someone discovers his body? Then arriving to see him sprawled out, ripped open…his face frozen in an expression of pain…. Knowing he died in agony? Having to burn his body and knowing the family line dies with him?” She sobbed, then blinked until her tears disappeared and composed herself. Tried to, rather. The tears continued to fall and she let them without wiping them away, as though very comfortable with the constant presence. “I hope she suffers the same wounds in hell that she gave out here.”

Dean held her gaze a long moment. This was the sort of grief he’d had when Sam had been in the pit, a grief that tore a person apart to the point that recovery was difficult, if not impossible. Aaron had been dead for over thirty years and Ronnie still grieved. He wondered if he’d made it worse or better with the news that she had a granddaughter. “I can guarantee it’ll be worse.”

She looked back at the fire. “Good.”

He waited until the fire began dying down before asking, “What happened to your family heirlooms?” He tried to sound casual about it and knew he’d missed the mark when Ronnie gave him a sharp glance. There was an idea swirling in his mind, one that had everything to do with Patricia Campbell and auctions.

“Heirlooms.” Now she wiped at her eyes, a dainty motion of her ring finger.

“Yeah, the things families pass down from generation to generation.”

She quirked a brow. “I know what they are, Dean. Why are you asking? It’s an odd thing to inquire about.”

Jo crossed her arms. “Yeah, honey. Why are you asking?”

“Curious. I’ve never known a hunter got disinherited before, not like you did. I mean, Jo had her dad’s knife, but he was in hunting so it came right to her. How does that work for heirlooms when your family isn’t in the business and you get disinherited? You ever get them?”

Jo’s mouth opened and her brows rose, like she couldn’t believe he was being so crass as to actually ask that.

Ronnie gave a very inelegant snort. “What happens is the same thing that happens in other families when a body is disinherited. Things go to others in the family or to auctions and the like. When my mother died, I was to inherit a necklace and earring set from her. However, my father was still angry with me and sent it to a small auction house with a few of the household items of lesser importance. He took great delight in informing me that a woman who looked practically homeless bought it very cheaply. He knew it would hurt me. That’s how it goes, Dean. It’s family politics and pettiness.”

“He just sent it to auction? Just like that?”

“Yes. He wasn’t a man to forgive easily. My name was struck from the family Bible decades ago. As far as my father was concerned, and to his dying day, his little princess was living in sin with a heathen hobo who would never amount to anything. Never mind that the heathen hobo had done a job for him that enabled him to continue living.”

“What did it look like? The set, I mean.”

“It’s long gone, Dean.” Ronnie’s smile was sad. “I can only hope that whoever bought it has enjoyed it. My mother loved that piece. It wasn’t the most valuable in her collection, but it was her favorite. The stones had a pearlescent quality under a certain light and it seemed to almost glitter to my eyes whenever my mother would wear them. A pleasant memory from my much younger days.”

“Were the earrings studs or drops?” There was the spark of excitement in Jo’s eyes.

“Drops. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Quite a bit of curiosity between you,” Ronnie remarked. “Definitely no shortage.”

And just like that, Jo was on the same page he was. They shared a long glance and said their goodbyes to Ronnie.


	18. Chapter 18

The possibility that Patricia had searched auctions for anything that might belong to Gwen’s biological family consumed Dean and Jo’s conversation on the way back. With what Gwen had revealed to Dean about Patricia keeping an eye on a couple auction houses, it made a weird amount of sense. Jo thought there was something telling in Ronnie’s reaction to Gwen’s name, yet they didn’t know what was being told by that response. If they had a clue why she’d reacted the way she had, Jo felt that everything would open right up, from Patricia’s attendance to auctions on.

She could be wrong, of course. Patricia could have just liked the sort of items that ended up at those facilities. Jo just didn’t think she was wrong however. There was something that they weren’t seeing yet.

Sam, Gwen, and Jack weren’t there when they arrived and Jo made a beeline for Gwen’s dresser drawers, opening the top one and drawing out the large flat case she and Gwen had found in a box. It was a fancy case, eight by eight inches square and two inches deep, the sort meant to imply that the contents were insanely expensive and should be treated as such. She opened it, studying the stones a second, noting how they glittered when she moved the box in the light. Just as Ronnie had said. Jo lifted the inner section and there, inside, was a folded paper.

She opened the paper, smiling in half disbelief as she read the contents. “Dean!” 

“What?” He came to the doorway.

She held up the paper. “Jackpot. Patricia wrote out a partial genealogy. Aaron and Mia, Ronnie and Ham, Gwendolyn and Richard -- with dates and places.” The names were all written out in full, with birth dates and places and death dates on a couple. Veronica Beatrice Martin (Bennett) and Abraham Alan Bennett. Ronnie’s parents: Gwendolyn Mary Carys (Martin) and Richard Herbert Martin. Abraham’s parents: Emily Susan Sexton (Bennett) and Edward Deverell Bennett. Gwen and Carys were both family names.

“Let me see.” Taking the paper from her, he looked it over. “Unbelievable. Patricia wanted her to know.” 

“She’s said before she thought her mom was trying to tell her before she died.”

He half laughed. “No wonder Ronnie reacted to Gwen’s name. It was her mother’s.”

“It’s all here…except Mia’s side and I think we should forget her side.”

“I’ll run this up and copy it.”

When he’d returned, Jo refolded the paper and returned it, then the case, where it belonged. “It’s been sitting in there this whole time. The box it was in was right around the corner in the front room. We’ve had it here for months.”

“Under our noses.”

Jo nodded slowly. “Abigael. Has to be. She went through all the boxes. Said she left the clue where Gwen would find it if she looked. We looked and found the case, but Gwen never took the set itself out of the case, so she never found the information.”

“The human way.”

They stepped back into the living room.

“Dean, we need to get Sam to take her somewhere fancy so she’ll wear them and find the information.”

“Or we could just tell her to open it.”

“And have her know we rifled through her stuff? Dean. You don’t rifle through a woman’s stuff without permission and we certainly didn’t have permission.” She knew she didn’t want anyone to rifle through her things and was pretty certain Gwen was of the same mindset.

“You’re the one said she needed to know.”

“Yeah and you agreed,” she pointed out. “She does need to know.”

“Yup. We tell her to open it.”

Dean had made a point before though, back after they’d had dinner with Ronnie. He’d said he didn’t want Gwen to run after Ronnie and be disappointed if Ronnie wouldn’t see her. He was right. Gwen would take the information and go after Ronnie, probably before Ronnie was ready to talk to her, which would lead to disappointment. Now she shook her head. “No.”

“No?”

He had an utterly adorable confused expression on his face that made Jo want to smooth his hair and kiss him. “You wanted to give Ronnie a chance to form an emotional connection with her picture and not disappoint Gwen if she doesn’t form that connection. If we tell her to open the case, which will indicate we violated the unspoken rule to never mess with a woman’s stuff, she might still run out and be disappointed.”

He blinked. “Right. But she could open it at any time anyway and still run with it.”

“True,” she acknowledged, raising a hand and chewing on a thumbnail for a few seconds, half turning away from him. “We sit on it, Dean. I don’t really want to, but I think you’re right.”

“Say that again.” He caught her arm and gently turned her to face him.

“We sit on it.”

“No,” he held up a finger, waving it in the air to punctuate, “the other part. The part where you said I was right.”

“I say you’re right lots of times.”

He smiled and shrugged. “I know. I just never get tired of hearing it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’re right. Now keep contacting Ronnie about the box. She seems to like you.”

“She won’t when she finds out I’m a Campbell on my mother’s side.”

“True and what’s with that anyway?” She grabbed her bag from by the front door and moved to the stairs. “Geez, is it like the Hatfields and McCoys only with the Bennetts and the Campbells?”

“That’d be my guess. Maybe if we play nice we’ll find out.”

It _would_ be nice if they got information without having to search heavily or drag it from someone.

“Why don’t you talk to her?” Dean followed her up the stairs and into their bedroom. “She liked your dad. Little Billy Harvelle. They approved of him.”

“Billy.” She made a face at him. “I can’t imagine anyone calling my dad ‘Billy’.”

“It’s Ronnie. I suspect she gets away with a lot other people couldn’t.” He laid down on their bed and watched her unpack her bag. “You think Gwen’ll like her?”

Jo shrugged. She’d been thinking about that. “From what you said previously about Ronnie, it sounds like she speaks her mind…rather like Gwen does. I think they’ll either click and love each other immediately or hate each other because they’re too much alike.”

He rolled onto his back. “I think she’ll like her. She’s never had a grandma before. Hunters rarely live long enough to see any grandkids they might have and if they do somehow see them, usually the circumstances are all screwed up and….” He swallowed hard, his light mood disappearing. “Things happen.”

Jo sat on the bed beside him. He was thinking about Samuel. Had to be. “Samuel was screwed in the head, Dean. He had something wrong with him. You know that. It was him, because any man in his right mind would’ve wanted to know you and Sam, to learn about the children his daughter had given birth to. I don’t know what his damage was, but it was something major broken inside him.”

Taking her hand in his, he pressed a kiss to it and held it against his chest. “Yeah, I know. I just…. I wonder sometimes if there ever would’ve been a time where Samuel wanted to know us, you know?”

She had nothing to say to soothe those wonderings away, so Jo laid beside him, drawing his head to her breasts and holding him while their conversation moved on to other things.

Gwen and Sam returned within the hour, Gwen launching into the trouble they’d had with Jack, that had already been talked about on the phone, and Sam into a discussion with Dean on Mick and a property. Both Sam and Gwen looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes. Jo tried to keep up with both conversations.

“Your child is an incessant drooler,” Gwen said, taking Jack from the carrier. He was fussing. “He’s been crying for no reason since you left. We changed him, fed him, played with him, held him, read to him. Nothing worked. Sam’s had a headache for two days and Ellen flat out said she was off grandma duty this week and he was our concern.”

Jo wondered what her mother was working on that caused that response and took Jack from Gwen, trying to soothe him. “What do you mean she said she was off grandma duty? What’s she working on?”

“Hell if I know. She hung up on me.”

Hung up on her? Interesting. Her mom lived for grandma stuff lately. Jo resolved to get to the bottom of that later. “You went through the drill?” She felt his forehead with the backs of her fingertips, thinking he felt a little warmer than usual. He rubbed his face against her shoulder and shoved a hand in his mouth. His cry was hiccupping. “Shh, sweetie. It’s okay.”

“We’re going to West Virginia. Today. Not tomorrow or the next day. Today.” Sam picked up a sheaf of papers from the table and waved them. “Gwen and I may have found a connection between Mick and one of our properties.”

“Of course we went through the drill. We tried everything, Jo. He just wouldn’t settle down.” Gwen straightened Jack’s shirt with a hand.

Dean shook his head. “I just got back, Sam. Can I have two hours before we’re off again?”

“You’ve had at least an hour already.” He held it out the papers in his hand. “Here. Look at this.”

“Sam.”

“What was he doing exactly,” Jo asked, swaying a bit in the way that usually calmed Jack. It didn’t work this time.

“Crying. He was crying, Jo, ” Sam interjected, then returned his attention to Dean. “You want to wait two hours when we might be able to solve whatever happened to Mick and maybe find the box? It’s Gwen’s life we’re talking here. And Mick’s.”

Somehow, Jo didn’t think he’d meant the part about Mick’s life to sound like an afterthought.

“One thing at a time.” With a speculative frown, Dean stretched out a hand, slipping a finger into Jack’s mouth. A second later he winced. “There’s that problem solved.” He looked at Sam and Gwen. “Either of you two notice he’s got a tooth coming in?”

“He’s _teething_? Already?” Jo sighed. The teething process didn’t sound like fun for the baby or the parents. “Wonderful. I’d hoped we’d have a little longer.”

“Teething,” Gwen repeated. “So we didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “No, I didn’t notice a tooth.”

Dean gave Jack’s back a quick rub. “It’s not through yet, but it’s there. Put your finger in his mouth and you can feel it just under the gum trying to break through. He been chewing on things? His hands, toys…?”

“Yes.” Sam crossed his arms. “He’s been chewing and drooling. We need to pack, Dean.”

“I’m going to guess you’re already packed.” Dean glanced at Sam with a resigned expression. “We’ll try the teething ring first and use a little numbing gel, maybe some baby Tylenol if that doesn’t work.” He went into the kitchen and came back a moment later with the teething ring they’d had in the freezer in preparation for this day.

“Then what,” Sam wasn’t going to back down. He was ready to go and Jo understood completely.

She took Jack’s hand from his mouth and maneuvered the cold plastic ring in it’s place. He latched onto it like he did with a bottle, chewing on the ring with enthusiasm. “It’s okay, Dean. You two go. We did promise Sophie we’d help her and if Sam and Gwen think there’s a connection, there just might be.”

It was clear he didn’t want to go just yet, but he nodded, “then we go,” and spent ten minutes with Jack while Sam repacked the car and Jo repacked his bag, then gave Jo a long kiss and headed back out on the road.

The next morning, she had the opportunity to have a chat with her mother while they were grocery shopping. Actually, Jo was shopping, Jack sound asleep in the seat. They’d left Gwen home. Ellen was just walking with her waiting for time to leave for a lunch date.

“Dean have a good birthday,” Ellen asked, keeping pace with Jo as they moved towards the baby aisle.

“I bought him an entire pie at a diner on the way back. We had pie and ice cream for dinner.”

“Nice and nutritious.”

Jo read the comment inside the comment. “Fruit, dairy, and bread. Sort of.”

“You know Jack’s gonna pick up your eating habits, right?”

“I think watching me, Sam, and Gwen might offset Dean’s habit’s a little.”

Ellen snickered. “If you say so, Jo. Kids soak up exactly the things you don’t want them to. Just wait until he starts talking. You might be surprised at what some of his first words end up being.”

Jo bent and retrieved two packages of diapers from the bottom shelf. “So…. Off grandma duty? What was that all about?” She flicked a glance towards Ellen. Her mother was wearing makeup -- more than her usual swipe of mascara and lipstick anyway -- and the shirt she was wearing hugged her body. Quite a lot of effort for a plain ‘lunch date’.

“Oh, you know.” 

Vague, no details. Jo was beginning to understand. “Ahh.”

“Ahh, what?”

They rounded the end cap and started up the next aisle. “You had a date.”

“I can have dates, Jo.”

“Did Bobby finally ask you or is it someone new?”

Ellen stopped walking and reached out a hand, snagging the cart and drawing it and Jo to a stop. “You knew he was planning on it?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “He’s been flirting with you for weeks now and since he and Jodie decided they weren’t couple material…. I’m not surprised. He let you rearrange his kitchen, mom. In all the time we’ve known Bobby has he ever let anyone rearrange his kitchen?”

“Aside from me?”

“Aside from you.”

“Well, no one….”

“And he let you rearrange the office area, conned you into looking at his business books, and lets you cook anytime you want. He even ate the stew that got burned and called it good ‘Cajun’ cooking.”

“Okay, so maybe it was obvious. You’re okay with it?”

She was watching Jo closely, trying to make sure it really was okay and that Jo wasn’t going to tell her it was when it wasn’t. Did she mind? No. Sometimes she thought of Bobby like a father anyway. It was what he’d been to Dean, Sam, and herself, and most recently, to Gwen. He’d slipped into that role like it was perfectly natural to do so. “I’m fine with it.” She pushed the cart forward again. “Just don’t make out in front of me. That’s like…gross.”

She heard her mother laugh and mutter, “It’s universal,” before catching up to her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel paced outside of the meeting room.

Death had called a meeting and Castiel was expected to attend and bring Abigael with him. Death had specifically asked for her, though she wouldn’t be able to vote on any matter brought up for a vote. Neither would Castiel.

What on earth could they have to vote on, he wondered. It wasn’t like anything in Death’s domain needed a vote. He could pretty well continue doing what he pleased in New Heaven and didn’t have to inform Castiel about any of it. Death’s department, while a part of the heavenly make-up, wasn’t a _part_ of it really. The closest Castiel really got to Death was the Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.

Those three had already arrived and he was just waiting on Abigael before going inside. He continued to pace, feeling very much like something was hanging in the balance of this meeting and maybe if he didn’t go in, whatever it was wouldn’t transpire.

But he had to go in. One didn’t decline to meet with Death when he called for a meeting. One went and said, ‘yes’ to whatever was planned, understanding that any information Death deigned to give out was merely a courtesy. Death’s plans were usually implemented as laid out with a few exceptions. Dean came to mind.

Castiel greatly feared that he wasn’t going to like what Death had to say. And to ask for Abigael? Whatever this was had to do with the Winchester family. Had to be. Her new assignment wasn’t born yet, the woman only a few months along and she wasn’t a hunter or pregnant by one. Her child would influence world events in other ways entirely. Ergo, to Castiel’s thinking, this was definitely about Sam and Dean in some way.

Abigael appeared at the end of the hall, walking briskly towards him. “Castiel, what’s going on? Uzziel grabbed me from my newest assignment, said it was urgent I return to heaven.”

“Death requests our presence at a meeting.”

Her eyes widened and she gulped loud enough to hear it. “What’d we do wrong?”

Interesting how she jumped to that conclusion. “I hope nothing.” Death was capable of reaping any of them at any time and for any reason. The reason would be sound and he’d have calculated the fallout right down to the last little thing. If it was in his plan, he’d make sure it happened and there really wasn’t much Castiel or Abigael could do about it. They could and would be reaped if Death thought it necessary for the big picture. Death was…Death. Castiel motioned at the closed door. “Shall we?”

The wide, tall doors opened onto a room that looked like a conference room in a human place of business. Uzziel had had it decorated in one of his manic bursts to get New Heaven just right. If Castiel remembered correctly, it also doubled as a classroom. There was a conference table with chairs around it and a large covered board on an easel. Pointed at one long wall was a slide projector filled with rows of slides.

Castiel vaguely remembered that Death had a fondness for the dramatic in presentations, a thing that had actually surprised Castiel to discover. A slideshow meant something Castiel didn’t care to think about: Death was going to make a point and it would be made in a painfully clear, graphic manner. The number of slides informed him of that. The point would be hammered in until none could protest it.

His stomach lurched a little, a human response to that realization.

Death was seated at the end of the table, a plate of doughnuts in front of him. He was in his customary suit and tie and was somehow not getting powdered sugar on his dark coat as he ate. He had a fondness for the sort of foods Dean did. Funny how he could have something so basic in common with one of the humans who’d done the most to upset natural order. 

Clotho was on his left, wearing a business suit and holding a cup of coffee in her hands. Her hair was up, her glasses were firmly in place on the bridge of her nose, and she had a thick file in front of her. She was studying one page with an intensity that he knew meant she hadn’t realized they’d arrived. She was deep down in the facts before her, getting them memorized and figured out. Of the three Fates, she was the one the most formal in her dress, keeping to a dress code that Lachesis tended to mutter was out of date and too much like the angels with the sticks up their butts.

He tried not to take that comment personally whenever she said it, though Lachesis always assured him she didn’t mean him specifically. 

Lachesis was on Death’s right but down three chairs from him, closer to the end of the table that Atropos sat at. Her clothes were as casual as Abigael’s were and she had an empty plate beside her water glass. She raised a hand and waved her fingers at them. The gesture seemed subdued, like she didn’t truly want to be there.

Castiel could relate. He didn’t particularly want to be there either. 

Atropos was at the end of the table closest to where Abigael and Castiel stood. It was a slight reassurance to note that she hadn’t changed her clothes into the more formal style. When she went formal like Clotho, it was another indication of things Castiel wasn’t going to like. When all three Fates conformed to the old style, it meant that they were united completely, working as though they were one and a force to be reckoned with. But they weren’t united at present. They were still in their preferred styles of dress. A mild comfort.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly, yet stayed fairly well in place as he noted the exact positions of the Fates and what that could mean. Atropos was usually the one closer to Death, working with him and his Reapers to plan the deaths. For her to not be beside him could mean that she didn’t agree with what was going to happen. It was something that was going to mess up her job. She disliked changes in her job as much as Death disliked change in natural order. And for Lachesis to be so far down the table? The same.

What was going to happen? What did Death have planned that Atropos and Lachesis might not like? If they didn’t approve, it was a good bet Castiel wasn’t going to.

He pushed aside any alarming thoughts. He’d just have to wait until the meeting began.

Along one wall was a table with cookies and doughnuts and what smelled like coffee that had been cooking for a few days. Death was the only one eating. When they stood by the end of the table, he looked up. “There you are. Precisely on time. Very good. Try the doughnuts, Castiel.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“I insist. They’re from a tiny bakery in New York. You’ll like them. I recommend the filled chocolate iced on the end.”

He went to the table and put one on a plate before returning to the table and taking the chair exactly opposite of Death at the end, not willing to start a fight with Death over food. It wouldn’t do to piss off Death in any way, shape, or form.

A moment later, Abigael sat beside him, across from Atropos. She had a cup of the coffee and a plate with two large cookies on it.

“The cookies are Risa’s favorite,” Death pointed out, at which Abigael paled.

Castiel wondered what had her so sure they were in trouble, though decided Death specifically getting Risa’s favorite cookies did tend to point to that. Or it could simply be that he was softening her up for something. Death being nice to be nice? He watched Death a minute and dismissed that notion. He was up to something.

“Thank you both for being prompt. I understand you were beginning a new assignment Abigael?”

She flinched when he said her name. “Yes.” Her voice trembled on the word.

“Then we’ll try to make this quick so you may return to the woman and her child.”

A spasm of relief crossed her face. “Thank you, Death.”

His gaze turned to Castiel. “Before we begin in earnest, let me point out that this meeting is a courtesy, Castiel. I don’t have to share any of this with you or your staff. However, in the interest of continuing good relations between our departments, it was suggested that I consider giving you a heads-up.”

Lachesis gulped and didn’t look up from her current contemplation of the tabletop. 

“I appreciate the consideration.”

“I suppose you do.” Death studied him a long while. “There’s something of a _situation_ about to develop. Are you aware of it? Has your…team brought it to your attention?”

There were many things he could be referring to, yet with Abigael’s presence requested it had to be something that would affect Jack in some way. Again, that meant something that would affect Sam and Dean and he couldn’t think what it was. They were always involved in something potentially big and global. “What situation might that be?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Very well, we’ll start at point ‘A’ and work forward to the situation I’m referencing. Atropos, show him.”

She handed Castiel her clipboard and he read the contents there with a growing sadness for Sam and Dean. A lump seemed to form in his chest, a lump of futility and grief for his friends. “No. _No_.” He shook his head. “Who decided this?”

“I assure you, Castiel, this is the proper death slated in the near future. There have been a couple corrections made already. I wasn’t present for those, you remember. My staff implemented them. Allow Abigael to see the board.”

Abby seemed to pale further as she read. “Are you serious? This is…it’s not fair to --”

Death’s stare was cool and unemotional. “I don’t usually share such information with those out of the loop, but I decided you both must understand the gravity of the sort of decision that we will be making today. The _weighing_ that has to take place in light of the developing situation.”

She gulped again.

“What weighing,” he asked. What was Death referring to? “What situation?”

“These meetings are weekly. We review information and adjust matters accordingly. Sometimes the information that comes to light makes adjustments necessary to the plan and sometimes we must wait to see the beginnings of the ripple before looking into matters. In this case, we watched awhile first. Atropos, show him the other pages.”

Clotho slid a thick sheaf of pages down the table to her and Atropos passed them along. The writing was in tiny print and he struggled to make sense of it. “What am I looking at?”

“The first thirty pages are the projections of what is scheduled to change if the death is allowed. The last thirty are what will change if it is not.”

Balance and order. He was talking about that and the job they were all charged with. They were going to vote how best to keep balance and order here, but there was something he wasn’t understanding, a piece of the puzzle he didn’t have yet, a thing that was being kept from him. “I don’t understand.”

Castiel thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile on Death’s lips, which was impossible. Death never smiled and Cas hoped he’d never witness something that would cause Death to do so.

“Clotho, your presentation, please.”

Even after the eldest Fate finished speaking, Castiel wasn’t sure just what Death was wanting from him and from Abigael. “What does one have to do with the other?” He was missing a piece of key information and was beginning to suspect that Death wasn’t going to give him that key piece. He was going to let Castiel flounder about instead just because he could.

Death sat forward in his chair and clasped his thin hands together on the table top. He spoke at length, explaining, then describing what he wanted Castiel to do, his tone calm, bored even.

“No,” Cas interrupted, no longer caring if he made Death mad. “Neither Abigael nor I will aid you in this. We want nothing to do with such a plan.”

“Are you certain of that? Are you absolutely certain you have a choice here?”

“There are always choices,” he insisted.

“Of course there are. Some good, some bad, and some that are necessary. This is necessary and therefore makes it your only choice.”

He and Abigael argued until Castiel realized his voice was breaking from strain. All the while, Death watched them with that barely blinking gaze. He’d made his mind up, the course of action was set and, as Castiel suddenly remembered, this meeting had been a courtesy. Death hadn’t needed to inform Castiel of any of this. He could have left him and Abigael both in the dark, weathering it all with the Winchesters, but he hadn’t.

“Let us take a vote then. Our angelic visitors may not cast a vote.” He made a motion to go forward with the changes as proposed and slowly, the votes were given. Death -- for. Clotho -- for. Lachesis -- for after a long moment of hesitation. Atropos was against. Death blinked once. “If you interfere, Castiel, I’ll take it as an aggressive action. Don’t forget your place in our arrangement. I can and will reap you if need be.” His glance flicked to Abigael. “And any in your heavenly realm who get in the way, regardless of what their job is.” He made a motion of one hand towards the door. “You may go.”

With a shock, Castiel sat back in his chair, realizing what had just happened.

Death had made them accomplices by including them, setting them both in the middle between a rock and a hard place. They were damned if they told Dean and Sam what they now knew and damned if they didn’t. Either could be considered a betrayal by the brothers and Castiel felt nausea flop about in his belly.

If they shared, Dean would demand to know why they hadn’t stopped it and if they didn’t and it was found out later they’d stood by, Dean and Sam would track them down. In the first, Death would kill them for interfering and in the second, Dean and Sam would kill them for being a part of it. Castiel knew it as surely as he knew his own name. No one hurt one of their own. 

He was on Death’s leash now, or as Dean would put it: ‘he was Death’s bitch’ and it had happened before he’d understood what was going on.

Either Dean and Sam would kill them or Death would. Rock, meet Hard Place.

Death was going to have his way and all Castiel and Abigael could do was watch.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two years given for Bill Harvelle’s death, 1986 or 1995. Neither was given onscreen (which I consider to be only canon), so I chose the off-screen version that has him dying later, in 1995, for the purposes of this story.

The meeting with Death had in no way gone how Abigael expected it to. She’d assumed she was going to be taken to task before Death dispatched her to wherever angels went when they died and it had hardly been the case. Death had something else in mind, something that bothered her. The unfairness of it ate at her, a human thing that she and Castiel both felt because they’d formed a connection to the Winchesters. Her connection was primarily with Jack, yet she felt for all of them. Castiel had encouraged her to form connections.

“Abigael.”

She turned as Lachesis called her name, not really feeling like chatting with the Fate right now. “What?”

“Wait up.”

Castiel stood with her until Lachesis made a shooing motion with one hand. “Girl stuff, Castiel. Privacy please?”

He sighed, his frown growing deeper, as though he didn’t particularly like Abigael having private conversations with a Fate. “I have duties,” he said and disappeared.

Lachesis glanced back at the room they’d all come from. “Come back inside a moment.”

“Why?”

“Clotho, Atropos, and I need a conference with you.”

She crossed her arms and waited for an explanation.

“Don’t be stubborn. You need to be aware of some of the changes that will occur, matters that weren’t discussed in the first meeting. This is your job, remember? You guard and you need to be informed of changes so we’re informing you.”

“Why all three of you?”

“Because.”

That reasoning was as good as the pre-War arguments that had been given. Abigael rolled her eyes, but followed Lachesis back into the room The other two Fates were waiting. Death was gone. Clotho took a folder from her briefcase and set it on the table. “Take a moment and familiarize yourself with this information, then we’ll discuss.”

She read through it, pausing every so often to glance up at them. This wasn’t the brief overview of what she’d looked at earlier, but a deeper look at the details and timeline involved. “Is this right?”

“There will be minor free will adjustments as usual, but yes. This is how events are slated to transpire at present.”

“Castiel --”

“Can’t know.” Lachesis shook her head. “Abigael, it’s not his place. It’s yours. You’re the Guardian, not him. He may act like one on occasion, but it isn’t his job. He’s in a supervisory position over the Guardians. He’s not one of you. He can’t know some of the things you do. I mean…did you tell him all about Jack’s life after I spoke with you on it?”

“No. Of course not. He’s not Jack’s guardian. I am.”

“Then you can’t tell him any of this either.” Atropos crossed her arms. “There’s more than one purpose working here. Death’s…and God’s. It’s not Castiel’s place to see the threads as we make sure they’re laid out. We do God’s work and cooperate with Death. Like you.”

“Really, you could be considered part of our team,” Lachesis added.

“I have to keep this from Castiel?” She didn’t like that part of it and she wasn’t sure she liked being considered part of the Fates and their team.

“Yes. All of it.” Clotho closed the folder. “Now, let’s discuss specifics: where you may intervene and where you may not. There are a few places that could be tricky for you to navigate.”

The meeting took far longer than the meeting with Death had and Abigael was fascinated by this deeper look into the jobs of the three Fates. They juggled far more than she’d ever thought possible, took care of intricacies Abigael hadn’t considered. The things she discovered in the course of their meeting gave her an appreciation for their jobs she’d not previously had. There was almost a sort of beauty in it. A sad beauty at times, but beauty nonetheless in the way matters worked together.

She left heaven and took up her position at the Winchester base once more, a bit calmer and a bit wiser than she’d been.

~~~~~~~~~~

While Dean was irritated with having to leave so soon after returning to their base, he understood the urgency Sam was feeling. He’d be antsy too if he thought he’d found a connection.

“What’s the connection?”

Sam looked up from the papers he was studying. The front seat was littered with folders and papers. “What?”

“The connection?” Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and shrugged. “The reason we’re heading out to West Virginia less than two hours after I got back from a trip?”

“The town Mick disappeared in and the town our building is in are about ten miles apart. If that.”

“And?”

While he waited for more, there wasn’t more forthcoming. “Sam? Tell me we aren’t driving to West Virginia on a hunch.”

“Not a hunch exactly. Don’t you find it too much of a coincidence that the two towns are so close? I mean for Mick to disappear right there…it’s got to be something.”

He sighed. Sam was desperate to find something that would connect something and make sense somehow and apparently this was it. He wanted to help Gwen, he wanted to help Mick, and he wanted an end to both matters, but for the building and Mick to be connected? Dean thought it was a stretch. “I think you’re reaching,” Dean glanced at him, “and that’s okay. The building needed looked at anyway and there’s a chance we might find the box while we’re there.” He managed to drive for a few minutes before adding, “Really? You don’t have anything else? Anything at all? Cryptic message he’d scrawled to Sophie or something?”

“No. It’s just too much of a coincidence for me. We have a property, a building, in one town and Mick just happens to disappear in the next town over?”

“Things like that happen.”

“To normal people in normal lives maybe. To hunters? No. To _us_? Especially not. Things like that happen to us, Dean. Review our history. There’s no such thing as coincidence in our lives.”

Sam had a good point, Dean had to admit that. “Yeah, okay. We’re going, we’ll check it out.”

The town wasn’t quite what Dean had expected. It was smaller than he’d thought. Maybe when they’d put up the sign it had been over fifteen hundred people. Now, he wondered if there were even eight hundred. The motel was right on the edge of town and had to be the worst one they’d ever stayed at -- and they’d stayed in some grungy places over the years. This was worse than any of the places they’d ever squatted in even. He wasn’t sure _he’d_ even chance taking his shoes off. Was that mushrooms growing in the corner? For posterity’s sake, he took a few pictures of the grossest bits of the room to show to Jo later. She wouldn’t believe him without pictures.

“I’m sleeping in the car tonight,” Sam announced, shouldering his bag without having set it down. “You can risk needing a tetanus shot, but I’m not. How much was this place?”

“About twenty.”

“We’re overpaying. I don’t think the maid has been here in twenty.”

Dean gave the room a glance. It was dusty, grimy, and also had cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. “I don’t think there’s ever been a maid, but the shower looks…slightly…usable, so that’s worth it.” Maybe. He stepped into the bathroom and ran the tap in the sink. The water came out a rusty brown and smelled like something had died in the pipe. To be fair, something probably had. He grimaced, coughing a little at the smell. “Okay, so maybe not.”

Sam’s snicker was almost too low to be heard, but he didn’t say ‘I told you so’. “You get a picture of the mold in the corner for Jo?” He gestured towards it.

“And one of the crusty bedspread.” He had a pretty good idea what had made the bedspread crusty and was rather impressed by how _much_ of one bedspread was crusty.

“The mushrooms in the corner?”

“ _Are_ those mushrooms? I wasn’t sure. Think they’re edible?” He was teasing with the last part, but Sam took him seriously.

“Are you kidding? No.”

“Yeah, I’m kidding. I’m not two, Sam. I know better than to eat things I find growing in my motel room.”

“I’m definitely sleeping in the car.”

“Might be a wise decision.” They put their bags back in the trunk and Dean squinted at the road. “Clerk says Montgomery street is about a block north.”

Across the street was a dollar store, a rundown family restaurant, and a post office. The post office was closed. There was a gas station on their right and then they were at the downtown section of town. Dean counted one church, four bars, and a car dealer that might or might not be out of business, along with several empty storefronts. “Should be around the corner.” 

They rounded the corner and stopped, mouths opening. 

Dean groaned. “Houston, we have a problem.”

The address for their building was rubble and ruin, along with the one beside it. There wasn’t much left that they could see.

“So….” Sam put his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m thinking some coffee at the restaurant sounds like a good idea.”

“Maybe some dinner.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, Dean.”

“No rule against an early dinner.”

“Except you’ll want another dinner about seven.”

He had to concede that as true and ordered food anyway. Chopped beef with mashed potatoes and the vegetable of the day. Sam ordered a salad. What came out looked okay, not the most appealing presentation ever, but decent. However, the first bite made him think there was no way in hell he was going to eat much of this meal. Overcooked, mushy, bland…. Not even a liberal application of salt and pepper helped. The meat had a strange taste he couldn’t identify. Venison maybe? Whatever it was certainly wasn’t beef like the menu said. A hundred different horror movies came to mind at that realization. He’d seen enough of them to know what was usually served in place of beef and it wasn’t animal meat. 

Appetite gone, Dean stopped eating and shoved his plate aside. He struggled to swallow the bite he’d taken. Whatever it was seemed to just _grow_ the more he chewed it. With a loud gulp, he managed to get it down.

A glance across the table showed that Sam wasn’t faring well with his salad either. The lettuce had a weird sheen to it and Sam picked at it rather than eat. Finally, he too abandoned his plate.

They were the only customers, so with a couple of smiles, Dean managed to charm their server, Margie, into talking with them awhile. “What can you tell us about the old store down on Montgomery?”

Sam took a small notebook out of his coat pocket and clicked a pen open.

Margie narrowed her eyes at them. “You police of some kind?”

“Let’s just say we’re interested in the former building.” Sam directed a slight smile her way.

“Interested how?”

Dean took a drink of coffee and tried not to gag. This town was ranking as the worst of everything so far. Worst motel, worst property, worst food, and definitely the worst coffee. He didn’t think Jo and Gwen were going to believe them about it either no matter what documentation they had. “Oh, we can’t say, Margie. But, uh,” he leaned over towards her a fraction, “those rumors of a chain store coming this way might have a bit of truth to them.”

Sam frowned at him.

He ignored it. “We’re scouts for the company. Any information is helpful.”

That apparently decided it for her. She set the coffee pot down and pulled up a chair from the next table, her voice lowering. “Happened around Christmas. Robbers blew the vault in the bank, but miscalculated. Both buildings came down and the robbers died inside. Made such a ruckus! I’d never heard such a thing in my years of living here. Boom! Dust went up and everything!”

Sam looked up from the notebook. “Anything weird happen after?”

“Well…. Some people claim they heard this scream coming from the old store, like a real pissed off animal, though no one ever found one. Probably buried in the rubble.”

“Anyone contact the owner that you know of?” Sam closed the notebook he’d been writing in.

“Sure did. No reply. City is looking into suing them for unpaid clean-up fees and the sheriff wants answers.”

“Doesn’t look too cleaned up to me,” Dean remarked.

“That? That _is_ cleaned up compared to what was there and the weird shit we all saw exposed.”

“Weird? How so?”

“Funny looking boxes with symbols on them, jars with all sorts of things in them, a single bug that looked like some sort of locust only malformed, bones the local doc says are human…. You know. Satanic stuff. That kind of weird. I mean, we’re a nice town and that sort of shit freaks us out.”

Nice town? Maybe thirty or fifty years ago maybe. All it was now was rundown and dying, like many other little towns across the U.S.. 

“Some people though…. Some people looted as soon as they were able to get in there. Most of what was there is gone now, carted off lazy good for nothings hoping to make a fast buck or by police.” 

“Did they find the owner at all?”

“Dead end is what I heard.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re certainly welcome.” She smiled wide at them. “I’m sure being a company and all you have better resources to find the owners, right? We sure could use a good store here. The jobs would be appreciated.”

“I’m sure they would,” Sam said, putting the notebook away.

“You boys like some pie? Just baked a fresh apple one.”

Dean shook his head. As much as he was tempted by pie, he didn’t want it forever ruined by what she’d likely bring out. He sat back and put a hand on his stomach. “I’m stuffed, Margie. Can’t eat another bite.”

“You sure? You barely ate a thing.”

“We’ll just take the check.”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, Sam looked at him. “You feeling okay?”

“A little indigestion maybe, why?” A little didn’t cover it. He had a lot of indigestion just from the few bites he’d eaten. Whatever the meat was wasn’t sitting right.

“You turned down pie.”

“So?”

“Dean, you never turn down pie. I’ve seen you eat pie that probably had fuzz in it it was so old.”

“Would you have eaten it?”

“The pie with the fuzz? No. I’d told you to throw it away, remember?”

“No, I mean the pie she’d bring out.”

He snorted. “After the meal we had? No. I never knew plain salad with no dressing could be greasy. We taking another look at the site?”

“Might as well while we’re here.”

Minutes later, once Sam had retrieved the camera, they stepped carefully into the wreckage. The town was quiet. It didn’t appear there was anyone to even see them there. Dean crouched, carefully raising a piece of fallen ceiling while Sam took pictures and video, getting close-ups on the smashed boxes and symbols that were present.

“Nice to find a genuine toxic waste dump,” Sam remarked. “I was beginning to wonder where they put the really nasty things.”

“Guess they never expected the building to blow.” There was barely anything left, but they’d box up what they could and take it to the Harvelle building they owned. Jo and Ellen both agreed it was best to use it. “You see any sign of an animal?”

“No.” He crouched down by another section of ceiling. “Hey, Dean. Come look at this.”

‘This’ was a symbol barely visible on the floor. He helped Sam move pieces of debris until they had a clearer view of it. “You ever seen anything like that?”

Sam shook his head, then snapped a few pictures. “No. Looks similar to a devil’s trap, but those aren’t the right symbols. They look almost medieval…. Maybe…. You know, I might have seen some of the symbols before somewhere. Can’t figure out…. A book?” He began to shoot some video, sweeping the camera around. “Whatever they are, it’s a binding for something.”

Dean walked the perimeter of it, then looked at some of the debris they’d shifted away from it. It looked like the same symbols on the ceiling pieces. “That look like the same symbol to you?” He pointed, then began dragging pieces together. What he pieced was the same as what was on the floor.

“A double binding.” A frown creased his brow. “They wanted to make sure it was caught.” Sam stepped over to the pile they’d made of debris and sifted through it, pulling out wooden pieces. As he laid them out, Dean noticed the symbols corresponded with the floor/ceiling symbols.

“Triple binding,” he corrected, touching a finger to one piece. It had been the lid at one point. In the middle of the lid was a dark stain that looked suspiciously like old blood. “What the hell were they trying to keep in here?”

“Something nasty.”

He sighed and pulled out his phone, taking a few pictures and sending them to Gwen, Jo, Ellen, and Bobby with the message that he’d appreciate it if they’d get a head start on finding out what the symbols meant. Then he called Jo and explained that they were going to be a couple days, maybe longer cleaning up. They’d be back when they could.

The sound of Jack’s nonsensical babble in the background made his heart constrict just a little and he told Jo he loved her before hanging up. He was going to miss Valentine’s Day and the spicy little extra he’d had planned for himself and Jo, but this needed cleaned up. First though, they were checking out the motel in the town Mick had disappeared from and making a switch to it if it was decent.

It didn’t take more than a couple days to box up what remained. They’d show it all to Bobby when they got back, see what he made of it.

As for Mick’s disappearance, they found nothing to add to what Sophie had already found. Mick was just gone. With little evidence he‘d been there at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby went down the length of the table, peering at each box or bit of box. Sam and Dean had been thorough in cleaning up the debris. The video they’d taken supported that. They’d taken before and after shots in case they’d managed to miss something. Bobby didn’t touch anything with his bare hands and if he did touch something, he used tongs or put on a pair of thick leather gloves.

Through his careful scrutiny he was at least able to tell them one useful fact beyond the fact that the symbols were medieval like Sam had thought they were. “They aren’t any of my boxes. Mine are usually branded with my mark somewhere.”

“Branded?”

“A craftsman takes pride in his work, Dean. Just a little something so if I run across one of mine that didn’t contain an object, creature, or hellspawn like it was supposed to --”

“Wait. Object, creature, or _hellspawn_?”

“Yeah.” He waited for the question he knew was coming.

“Why contain?”

“Because some things can only be contained. You kill ‘em it messes things up and if you let ‘em live it messes things up. Better to put ‘em in a box and store them somewhere.”

“You mean like quarantining a computer virus instead of deleting it because it’d do more damage to destroy it or leave it?” Sam looked excited by that. “Containing it is the only thing you can do.”

“I do mean like. There are creatures and hellspawn that got bound to the earth somehow a long time ago. Bad-ass magic. You destroy them, you put the world out of whack. Contain them and nothing goes any wonkier than usual.”

“Forcing a genie into a bottle,” Dean replied.

“Something like that.” He reached for a book and opened it, then closed it and rummaged until he found a different one. “Here. This’ll give you a general overview of the creature angle. Lot of creatures fall into that category. Some soul-stealers, shadow walkers, things like that. They’re bad mothers, but if you provoke them by trying to contain them and fail or succeed and the binding gets broken? Well, pick out your gravestone because they won’t rest until they’ve gotten revenge on those who bound them. They’ll snuff out a family line to keep from ever getting bound again. And then they’ll go on doing what they do best: putting the world out of whack.”

Dean perused the page. “How did we not know about this already?”

Bobby shrugged. “Beats me. I been telling you this stuff for years now. It’s like it goes in one of your ears and right out the other.” He directed a pointed stare Dean’s way.

“What does what,” was Dean’s distracted reply, but before Bobby could reach out and smack him upside the head like he was tempted to do, Dean looked up and grinned at him.

“You’re a pain in my ass sometimes, Dean.”

“You think that’s what we found?” Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder at the book. “A binding that was broken?”

“It’s possible,” Bobby replied. “They definitely wanted to keep something in with triple locks.”

“How do you bind one?” Sam took the book from Dean and began to flip pages.

“I’ve never bound one, but from what I remember reading in there,” he gestured at the book, “you have to somehow separate it from the body it’s using and that’s the hard part. Standard anti-possession charms don’t seem to work, least none we know about, and they get in anything. Human, animal, monster. If it’s humanoid it’s definitely fair game.”

“Monsters preying on monsters.” Sam turned back a page. “Are all these creatures like that? Equal opportunity?” He glanced up.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Not like I know everything.”

“You don’t know everything?” Dean sighed theatrically. “The illusion is shattered. How can I ever go on?”

“How about with my boot up your ass? You’re in a helluva mood tonight.”

“Came back to find Jack’s got an ear infection along with teeth coming in.”

“Fun.”

“Not so much really. Parenthood sucks sometimes.”

He wouldn’t argue with that.

“Go on.” Sam ran a finger down the page. 

Bobby wasn’t sure Sam had paid the least bit of attention to the exchange he’d just had with Dean. He gestured at the book. “What I know is in that book, Sam. Those creatures…. If lore is right, then one hunter can’t stop one because they’re too strong. You need two or more depending on which creature it is. The stronger it is the more hunters needed to bind it again. You’ve gotta tag team it.”

“How do we know what creature it is?”

“We look at the symbols I’m guessing,” Dean said, sitting on the edge of the desk. “It’s a good bet there was more than a single Campbell involved, right? I mean, it _was_ in our building, though I guess it could be a Harvelle or…Carys property. And if it gets rid of family lines, any one of us could be targeted if this thing is free and it wasn’t just an empty box all ready just in case whatever it was got free again.”

That was an odd pause before saying ‘Carys’. Bobby didn’t ask, however. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Gwen’s real family was beginning to sound as messed up as the Campbells. “It’s supposed to be rare that binding works and in my lifetime, there’s only been one that….” He broke off. Something niggled at the back of his brain, a sliver of memory he couldn’t quite bring into focus. Getting older wreaked havoc on the speed of information recall. Who was it who’d told him about the containment and given him the book? “You boys read through that. I got to make a call or two.”

Several futile calls later, Bobby remembered who had told him about the containment and given him that book.

Bill Harvelle.

Bill had been the one closing the Roadhouse one night and had let Bobby stay so they could continue their conversation. It had been after everyone had gone that he’d brought out the book and told Bobby about a containment he’d once witnessed, though now that Bobby thought about it, he wondered if ‘been involved in’ was a better description of what had happened. Bill hadn’t told him the names of anyone else involved, but he could speculate now. Bill Harvelle, Aaron Carys, and Neal Campbell. Maybe even Patricia had been involved. Bill had poured himself a drink and downed it as he spoke, hand shaking. He’d talked mostly of what had led up to the containment, of finding his parents dead, of joining hunters to track the creature.

Bobby sighed and stepped back into the room. Sam was studying the book like it was the answer to a prayer and Dean was slouched on the couch watching him. Bobby cleared his throat, garnering both their attention. “Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Good,” Dean sat up.

“I remember who gave me the book and he once witnessed a containment, though I think ‘witness’ was a euphemism for ‘participated in’.”

“Awesome.” Dean clapped his hands together once.

“What’s the bad news,” Sam asked.

“He’s dead and has been for years.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean slumped back on the couch with an irritated frown and roll of his eyes. “Anyone we might’ve heard of?”

“Uh-huh.” Bobby nodded. “You’re married to his daughter, Dean.”

“Bill Harvelle?” Sam closed the book he’d been looking at. “Really? He was part of a containment? He didn’t leave any journals did he?”

“Nothing I know of that mentioned the containment unless he changed his mind and wrote about it later. It was one of those late night confessions, like he had to tell someone about it and I was the closest person there that he trusted. Said he never wrote down anything about it and never would, that it was the worst few days of his life.”

“Details?”

“Nothing that you could use. He told me about finding his folks dead, watching the papers to find a trail of the creature, things like that. He didn’t give me details of the containment, Sam.”

“You think he told Ellen?”

Thinking about it, he slowly shook his head. There were parts of his life before he’d married her that Bill hadn’t shared with Ellen. “No. I think the containment was one of the secrets he hadn’t told her yet when he died.” There’d been things he hadn’t been sure how to tell Ellen, like how long his family had been in hunting and just how freaky the world was.

He could see the disappointment on their faces and decided he’d try to find a way to talk to Ellen about it. It’d have to be in a quiet moment, yet not when she was feeling vulnerable. Memories of Bill still got her teary-eyed and he didn’t want her crying. 

Bobby hoped to help her finally let go of Bill Harvelle. He could turn on the charm when he wanted and planned to charm Ellen so thoroughly that she never knew what happened. 

~~~~~~~~~~

After days of Jack’s ear infection and slow tooth coming in, Jo was ready for a break. She was ready for some time alone with her husband.

For Valentine’s Day, a late Valentine’s Day anyway since they’d still been gone, Dean wanted something special. More specifically, he wanted a fulfillment of their Christmas bargain. Sam and Gwen had gone on a job so they could be alone for a couple days and since Ellen was on a date, Jodie was babysitting Jack for a few hours. She’d been happy to take him, a thing that had surprised Jo a little, but her mother trusted Jodie, so she’d decided it’d be okay for a few hours. They’d pick him up by midnight. 

They had privacy and Jo thought that was a good thing. She suspected she was going to be feeling a little silly doing this.

Jo opened the box that had come earlier in the day.

‘Deluxe Saloon Girl’ costume.

She pulled out the pieces with a frown, laying them out on the bed. Somehow, she doubted the historical accuracy, but Dean was giddy at finally convincing her to do a full out costumed role play so she’d just put it on and give him a nice present.

“The things we women do for our man,” she muttered.

When she’d put the outfit on and done a little make-up, she thought she didn’t look too bad. Wasn’t her usual sort of look, but Dean was sure to enjoy it. She filled up the pink water gun he’d included with the box and made her way downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~

Some hunts simply weren’t meant to be, Gwen reflected, taking her bag from Sam and reaching for the doorknob on the front door. They’d gotten to the site only to find the matter had been taken care of the day before, so they’d turned around and headed home rather than waste money on a motel room. She opened the door and stopped a few feet into the living room, Sam bumping into her before he, too saw what she did.

Jo and Dean were in costume. Jo had one foot propped up, her frilly skirt high on her thigh and it looked like Dean was trying to remove a garter with his teeth while his hands were tied behind his back. She had a pink water gun pointed at him.

Dean’s grin wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, while Jo turned bright red and reached for the blanket draped on the back of the couch. “I’m the Sheriff,” Dean explained, “and this saloon girl is being _really_ naughty.”

“Of course she is. How could she not,” Sam replied without missing a beat.

“What are you doing back,” Jo hissed.

“Another hunter beat us to it,” Gwen said, trying not to laugh at the picture the two presented.

Jo pointed a finger at her. “Filter,” she demanded.

“I can only filter so much.” The laughter was welling up and there was little she could do to stop it.

“Do it anyway,” Jo demanded.

Sam took Gwen’s arm, trying to maneuver her back the little bit to the door. “Okay. We’re gonna head out, have a nice long late dinner somewhere and be back about, uh, ten? That give you plenty of time, Dean?”

He looked at Jo and shrugged his brows before looking back at Sam. “Can you make it eleven?”

“You could go upstairs,” Sam suggested. “You have the entire upstairs.”

“We _could_ ,” Dean agreed, nodding.

“But you’re not going to.”

“Nope. The atmosphere down here more saloon-like.”

Snickers left Gwen’s lips. “Yee-haw. Did you do the Can-Can?”

“Eleven it is.” Sam shoved her out the door before she could say anything else.

Gwen let Sam lead her to the car. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that,” she said, getting in and putting on her seatbelt.

Sam chuckled as he started the car. “And you’ve known Dean how long now?”

“Never occurred to me.” She shook her head. “The sheriff and the saloon girl. Creative.”

“Dean…likes adventure. And the old west.”

“Obviously.”

“Maybe we should have called.”

“Nah.” She shook her head. Doing so would have deprived Gwen of this amusement. “Did you see Jo’s face? I’m going to get so much mileage out of this….”

Sam glanced at her as he drove. She sounded like Dean right then. “Okay, you’re enjoying Jo’s mortification a little too much.”

“Gotta have something to kid her about.” She looked out the window at the passing scenery. “Where are we going?”

“I was thinking the steak place near Ellen’s?”

“Sure.”

The restaurant was the sort of dark best called ‘romantic’. In Gwen’s opinion, they served the best steak in the area. After ordering, Sam took her hands in his, his expression shifting. She saw nervousness and uncertainty flicker there in his eyes and knew that whatever was on his mind was a weighty matter. His thumbs slid across her skin, lips parting. Gwen almost asked if something was wrong, some of her ease in their dinner fading away. He looked so earnest and solemn.

A familiar laugh close by caught her attention and she glanced away from Sam, mildly surprised by what she saw.

~~~~~~~~~~

While Sam could understand Gwen’s amusement at Jo’s reaction at being caught role-playing, she probably needed to wait awhile before kidding Jo about it. From experience, he knew it was best to let the embarrassment fade a little. That way the teasing remained friendly.

He chose the restaurant primarily because it was close and because they hadn’t had steak in awhile. Contrary to Dean’s frequent words on the subject, Sam did eat things besides vegetables, fruit, and chicken. He did like the occasional burger or steak. The restaurant was perfect for what Sam had had half planned for a couple weeks. It was dark, the atmosphere intimate, and Gwen was happy right now, smiling. As her deadline approached, her smiles would become less and less.

He wasn’t going to dwell on the possibility that the Trickster would take her away, shoving aside thoughts of the deadline and taking Gwen’s hands in his. No time like the present. The words he wanted to say were there in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t sure how to say them. Maybe…. Was he even ready to do this? Ellen had said he’d know when the time was right. Was it right?

A hearty feminine laugh distracted him and he saw Gwen frown.

He knew that laugh. He’d heard it many times.

Gwen turned her head, gaze searching the restaurant.

The laugh came again and there she was. Ellen. With Bobby.

Not just with him, but _with_ him with him. They were on the same side of the table, Bobby’s arm around Ellen’s shoulders, pressed together. As Sam watched, the two kissed with the lack of restraint Dean and Jo usually displayed. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“When Ellen said she wanted to live her life again, she…meant it.” Gwen cleared her throat, lip curling a little. “It’s like seeing your parents making out.”

He snickered a little, but had to agree, though he’d never had that particular experience. He decided it was probably a good thing it was sort of dark in the building. “They look happy,” he offered.

“Happy isn’t exactly the word I’d use, though mine begins with an ‘h’ too.”

“Maybe we should leave.”

“Our food hasn’t come yet.”

“Oh. Yeah. You do know there’s no way they won’t see us, right? We’re right by the door.”

“It’s a free country. We can eat dinner here, too.”

True to his words, Ellen and Bobby passed right by them. “Hey, you two.” Ellen dragged Bobby to a stop. “When did you get here? We didn’t see you walk in.”

“Not surprised,” Gwen muttered only half under her breath.

Ellen frowned. “What was that?”

“Oh, uh, there was a crowd came in the same time we did.” Sam hurried to say that, though a glance around the restaurant showed his words to be false. At this hour, there was hardly anyone there.

Bobby put an arm around Ellen’s waist and didn’t say anything. 

“Crowd, huh.” A faint amused smile began to curve Ellen’s lips.

“To-go orders?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question though it came out as one.

Ellen laughed. “Of course.” She glanced at Bobby. “To-go orders.” She winked at them. “Enjoy your dinner.”

When they were gone, he blew a breath out. “Why is it I’m the one feels embarrassed right now for catching them all over each other?”

Gwen grinned and laughed. “I don’t know.”

“Do we tell Jo?”

Her grin faded slightly. “Do you want to?”

“No. I really don’t want to be the one to tell her Ellen and Bobby were all over each other in Mackenzie’s Steakhouse.”

“Then we say nothing.” She took a drink of her vodka collins. “Maybe we should be all over each other, too. I mean, first Jo and Dean, then Ellen and Bobby. Could be a sign we’re not being romantic enough.”

“Not being romantic enough, huh?”

“We are in a dark restaurant, Sam.” Gwen reached out and took his hands in hers. “Now, where were we? About here, I think. You started to say something?”

Sam studied her. The moment was gone, that perfect moment he’d thought had been there and he squeezed her hands with his. “I was just gonna say you look amazing right now.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Not all the time.”

“It’d be boring if you were.”

The moment was definitely gone and Sam wondered if it had really been there at all.


	20. Chapter 20

The year was passing quickly, almost too quickly in Dean’s opinion. February was almost over. The building in Montana had been another dead-end, much to all their frustration. It, too, was in rubble, but had been for a very long time. Jo and Gwen had reported there wasn’t anything there to see, making it a likely candidate to be sold off, since it was one they owned outright. When he and Sam had left, Jo and Gwen were navigating the real estate waters, to get the process going.

They appeared to be no closer to finding the box with the Trickster’s magic. Dean sent a query to Ronnie, reminding her that he and Jo had asked her about it, receiving an email with only an address in it in return. It was the cabin she and Ham owned, the one he’d already hunted down and planned to visit. He guessed that meant she’d be expecting them to pop in, so he and Sam were en route.

He’d talked to Sam as they drove about what he now knew about Ham and Ronnie. Out of the four of them, it was just Gwen now who didn’t know.

The days passing were like seconds ticking by on the clock of Gwen’s timeline. Dean felt the anxiety of that like he had his own wait for hell. If Sam lost Gwen…. He didn’t want to think what the loss of her could do to Sam, what with him finally opening up and starting to let himself feel again. This was a delicate time for Sam emotionally, Dean knew that and did everything he could to shore him up and keep him steady.

The cabin was off a private road out in the middle of nowhere. As they drove up the driveway, he noted a fence and cameras placed in strategic points in the trees.

“They’ll know we’re coming,” he said.

“Ronnie invited us. That’s what the address she sent was, an invitation.”

“You think her husband knows?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. You’re sure this is the right place?”

They parked beside a Suburban and got out. The cabin was two stories and not exceptionally large. Dean thought their base was bigger than the cabin. He studied the clearing. There were more cameras and as they walked up the steps, the devil’s trap in front of the front door became visible. “I think it’s the right place.”

The door opened. Ronnie stood there, elegant in slacks and a sweater. “Well don’t just stand there in the cold, boys. Come in. Have some coffee.”

She’d been watching for them. How long had she been standing at the front windows, Dean wondered. “Coffee sounds great.”

“Who is it, Nic,” a gruff voice called.

“Guests, dear,” she called back.

As they followed her into the cabin, he heard paper rustling. “Guests. Right. Care to be more specific?”

The air smelled of pine, citrus, coffee, and what smelled like…coffeecake? Dean perked up. Fresh coffeecake to go with the coffee sounded like a good idea, too.

“It’s the Winchester boys.” She said it like it was ridiculous it’d be anyone else and gestured for them to follow her through a door. “I just took out a cinnamon chip coffeecake if you’d like some?”

“Sounds great, Ronnie,” Dean told her.

“The Winchester boys? Pray tell, who are the Winchester boys, Nic?” The words were careful, as though he knew very well who they were and hadn’t considered they’d ever be in his house.

“Hunters, Ham. Remember? We met them over that silly dress? The boys who know our granddaughter? Don’t you remember?” She busied herself pouring coffee and putting the cups on the table, then getting out plates and silverware. She dished up generous portions of the cake.

Dean took a minute to look around the room. There was a fireplace on one wall that had probably once been used for actual cooking. On the mantel were a few framed pictures. There, on the end, by the picture of a teenage boy, was the picture of Sam and Gwen, in a nice frame. He smothered a pleased smile and glanced at Sam to see if he’d noticed the picture yet.

He hadn’t, his attention alternating between Ronnie and the doorway.

Abraham Bennett appeared in the doorway. He took off his glasses and shoved them in the pocket of his shirt. “Oh. Them.” He looked less than thrilled to have them there. “What do you want,” he asked in a decidedly ungracious tone.

“Come have some coffee with us,” Ronnie cajoled with a smile. “The cake is ready.”

“Well, if the cake is ready, I guess we’ll all have coffee.” He joined them in the room itself and went to the table. “Go ahead and sit. Won’t get Ronnie to until you do.”

She brought them cake, set the coffeepot in the center of the table on a hot pad, and began to eat her cake, pausing to make introductions. “Ham, the boy on my left is Dean, the boy on the right is Sam.”

He flicked a glance at both of them without saying a word and went back to his cake.

This couldn’t be much more awkward, Dean thought, digging into the slab of cake on his plate. It was every bit as good as that bakery stuff Jo and Gwen liked to pick up.

Ronnie cleared her throat. “Is your wife at home, Dean?”

“She is. Working on a business matter.”

“Ahh. How’ve you been, Sam?”

He seemed surprised she’d even ask. “I’m fine. Thanks.” He wasn’t eating the cake or drinking the coffee.

Ronnie adhered to the pleasantries of company, chatting on light matters until the cake had been eaten. “There. I suppose we can discuss business now.”

“Fine.” Ham shoved his plate aside. “What sort of business do we have to discuss?”

“The box,” Sam reminded him. “The one with Trickster magic in it? Dean and Jo talked to Ronnie about it?”

“That box.” Ham nodded and crossed his arms. 

“You have any idea why a Trickster would be interested in your granddaughter?” Dean accepted more coffee from Ronnie.

Ham sighed. “Aaron could be a hotshot at times, too clever for his own good. A Trickster would be something he’d think he could take on. Look boys, I see you’re just as clever as Aaron was. You tracked down this property and I thought I’d had it pretty well hidden.”

Ronnie was carefully not looking at any of them, fussing with the coffee pot and the placement of it on the hot pad on the table.

Dean found it interesting that Ham wasn’t aware she’d sent him the address. “We must be clever,” he agreed.

“Things we’ve heard? You are. However, I’d just as soon you forget you found us alive. Tell the girl --”

“Gwen, dear,” Ronnie interrupted. “Her name is Gwen.”

He shot a cool glance her way. “The girl. Tell _the girl_ you found a couple of graves.”

“You don’t want to meet your granddaughter?” Sam was offended by that attitude, Dean could see it in the way his nostrils were flaring, hear it in the almost cautious way he said the words.

“I didn’t approve of her mother, wasn’t welcome once she realized I was on to her and my son cut me out of his life.”

“Us.” Ronnie whispered. “He cut _us_ out.” Her glance back at Ham held hurt that was personal, old, and deep.

“I couldn’t save him. If we’d gotten the call sooner, maybe I could have.”

What could Ham have done? How could he have saved him? The sort of wounds Aaron had died from weren’t the kind that could be stitched up and healed over. Even if they’d gotten him to a hospital, chances were that Aaron would have still died. From the account they’d found, Mia had ripped him open, doing a good imitation of a female Jack the Ripper.

“I could have saved him,” Ham repeated. 

The guilt that ran rampant on his face for long seconds fascinated Dean and he filed that and Ham’s certainty away to look at later. Perhaps Abraham Bennett deserved a closer look. He made a mental note to dig a bit into Ham’s family and find out why he was positive he could have saved his son. 

“Mia separated him from us.” Ronnie twisted her wedding ring on her finger, around and around. “She did it effortlessly. He walked away from us.”

There was a division in their grief, Dean saw. Ham regretted having been cut out of Aaron’s life and somehow not saving him and cut Ronnie out of his grief, while Ronnie…. She felt the pain of losing her son and losing a part of her husband as well. A double whammy still felt after all these years.

Maybe the two were fine everywhere else, but when it came to Aaron’s death, they were a ton of messed up.

Dean could relate.

Ham poured himself more coffee. “When a man’s caught in a deceitful woman’s web, ain’t nothing releasing him until it’s too late one way or another. His was the permanent way. My son had a big problem thinking with the wrong head where women were concerned.”

With a glance at Sam, Dean nodded. They could relate to that, too.

“He was a sick child, not strong,” Ronnie explained. “Billy was his only real friend for years. Our families worked well together many times. We enjoyed having Billy around. He encouraged Aaron to work on building himself up. He got Aaron into things Ham and I couldn’t. Children never listen to their parents, you know. We never know what’s best.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Ham snorted. “Aren’t you forgetting Billy’s flaw, Ronnie? He introduced Aaron to Patty.”

“Who introduced him to Neal, I’m guessing, and they hit it off?” Dean watched Ham’s expression closely. He saw anger beginning to build there, tiny flickers catching into flame.

“They did. God knows why. Aaron knew very well what those Campbells were capable of.”

“What were they capable of,” Sam asked, setting his cup down without having had a single sip. He was going through the motions, pretending.

Ham sneered. “The Campbell family is a bunch of backstabbing thieves out for number one. They’ll screw anyone over, even their own kin, to get what they want in this life. Scum of the earth. If that girl was raised by one of them, then she’s lost to us.”

“You’re going to completely dismiss her because of a prejudice against an entire family?”

“You think that’s stupid, Sam? How about having your ancestors betrayed and murdered by one of them? Slaughtered by Campbell greed. They stole books from us, important books, and I’d never trust one of them. Betrayal, murder, and stealing are just a few of their sins.”

“And I’m sure your family is lily white,” Sam snapped.

“Well, ain’t that too bad,” Dean drawled over him. “You’re missing out, Ham. Gwen’s a good woman and from what we’ve learned, Patricia and Neal treated her right. They raised her well.”

“It’s not too late,” Sam started.

“It is,” Ham insisted. “It was too late when they stole her instead of bringing her to us. If we’d known about her, we would’ve raised her proper.”

Ronnie stared at the coffee pot. “Is it too late though? Is it really?”

“She has questions and you’re the only two people who can give her answers.”

“She’s a Campbell, boy. I don’t give answers to Campbells.”

“Too late.” Sam stood. “There’s two on their mother’s side right here in front of you and I can tell you, if this is your attitude? I don’t want Gwen to meet you. I don’t want her to deal with your bullshit. Your granddaughter is a good woman and a good hunter. She’s beautiful and smart and you’re crazy not to want to get to know her, but hey….” He spread his arms. “No skin off my back. I’ll gladly tell her we found graves. The shit she’s found out the past year and the things she’s dealt with? No way she needs to come up against your stupid prejudice. Patty and Neal loved her like she was their own. They took her in and raised her the way Aaron wanted her raised. Maybe them taking her was best.”

“What things,” Ronnie asked, turning her attention to Dean. “What’s happened to her?”

“Mia tried to sacrifice her to bring Molek out of hell.” Dean hurried to finish his coffee. It looked like Sam was working up to one final bit and then he was sure their welcome would be completely worn out.

“Molek was the demon you told me she raised?”

“Yes.”

Ham shook his head, still glaring at Sam. “Insanity runs in that family. We’re pretty sure of it.”

“How awful!” Ronnie leaned forward.

“Tell me about it. I was there. That woman was bat shit, over the bend, looney tunes crazy.” Dean drained his cup. “We’re talking pissing in her own Wheaties here.”

“Terrible.” Ronnie shook her head. “Just terrible.”

Ham cleared his throat. “Ronnie, you wanna quit talking? They’re Campbell boys -- in case that’s escaped your notice, dear?”

Ronnie was ignoring Ham, which was fine with Dean, as she appeared to be in the middle of forming one hell of an attachment to Gwen without having met her yet. “She’s okay now, right?” The concern in her voice was maternal, anxious. “I mean, no health troubles? She’s fine?”

“Oh yeah. Clean bill of health.” Dean nodded. “Well…once we got the Alp Mia had created detached from her and destroyed.”

“Those things are fiction,” Ham spat out looking very much like he was sulking.

“Hell they are,” Sam snapped.

“Tell that to our base. Had a whole room destroyed trying to kill the thing.” Dean set his mug down, putting a hand over the mouth when Ronnie reached for the pot. “No thanks, Ronnie. I’ve hit my limit. Great coffee, by the way, and the coffeecake was delicious.” He turned his attention to Ham. “Then there was the Trickster that abducted her. You know, the Trickster we came to see you about? How about that box? You two seen it or are we wasting all our time here?”

“Just like a Campbell,” Ham snorted.

“Excuse me?” Sam’s hands came to rest on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re here to try to find that box and save her life.”

“You’d use us to do it.”

Sam blew out a frustrated breath. “We’d use the box Aaron filled with Trickster magic. How is that using you?”

“If it’s in our possession.”

“We’re asking for it.”

“And you’d steal it if we have it and say no.”

“I want my girlfriend to live without fear of a Trickster kidnapping her again!”

Dean cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t _you_ , Ham? If Ronnie was in Gwen’s place and you were in Sam’s? You’d do what you had to. You know you would. Don’t stay married to one woman as long as you have without occasionally doing whatever you have to to keep her safe.”

“Yeah? Why are _you_ so keen to save her? She’s not your girlfriend.”

“But she’s Sam’s and that makes her one of my own. See, that’s what I was taught. You protect your family. She’s family as much as my brother, my wife, and my son, and even my wife’s mother and a few other people. I’ll do what I gotta, Ham. I protect my own.”

Sam snorted. “Come on, Dean, we’re leaving. They won’t help us. How could they possibly? We’re Campbell blood. Ooh, must be evil through and through. Don’t touch anything on the way out, we wouldn’t want to contaminate their space with our Campbell cooties.” Sam turned on his heel and left.

Dean had to admire the use of sarcasm and stood. “Nice to see you again, Calamity. Ham, I won’t say it’s been a pleasure to meet you, but it’s been…interesting. Thanks for the hospitality. I’ll see myself out.”

As Dean closed the door, he heard Ronnie’s voice say, “Abraham Alan Bennett, you get your head out of your ass! She’s Aaron’s child!”

In the car, he looked at Sam, who was still seething. “Well, that was a hoot.”

“Idiot.”

“Now I know I’ve done some stupid things in my life --”

“Not you, Dean.” He sighed. “Bennett. Idiot. Prejudiced old --”

“Resource?”

“Jackass.”

“Don’t hold back, Sam. Tell me how you feel.”

“He won’t even think about helping her, his own blood!”

“Sounds disgustingly familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me all old hunters aren’t like that with their families.”

“All old hunters aren’t like that with their families.” He started the car.

“You’re just saying that.” Sam tapped his fingers on his knees.

“Yup.” Dean was about to put the car in gear when Ham appeared at the window. He rolled it down. “Yeah?”

Hem bent and proffered a business sized envelope. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“When Aaron went into the business, I got him a storage unit to put things in. Family tradition of sorts, older generation helping the younger ones just starting out. I never looked in it to see what he put there and I’m sure he gave those Campbells a copy of the key.”

Sam snorted and Dean tried to keep his own temper down. “So?”

“So, Ronnie is right. Like who raised her or not, she’s kin and she’s in the family business. Aaron wasn’t around to get her a storage place, so she can have his. I’ll keep paying on it like I have been.”

It was a weird sort of olive branch and probably all Ronnie could get him to agree to at present. He didn’t want to meet her, but he’d help her in the family business. Dean took the envelope and handed it to Sam.

“Look, boys, I know the sort of good you two have done. It’s been all over and reached us out here.”

“Just for the record, there aren’t many Campbells we claim as kin ourselves.” Dean held his gaze a long moment. “We’ve had our own trouble with that side of the family.”

“We’re Winchesters,” Sam told him. “That’s who we are and that’s how we were raised.”

Slowly, Ham nodded. “I think I remember your father. John, wasn’t it? Ronnie liked him.” 

“Ronnie seems to like a lot of people,” Dean pointed out.

Ham’s expression softened. “It’s that sunny side she has. She sees the glass half full every time.” He half laughed. “Pollyanna morning, noon, and night. Woman’s a regular sunshine factory most days.”

Dean blinked and glanced at Sam in time to see Sam’s surprise at the name. Interesting. Pollyanna was what Sam called Gwen and had since before he’d gotten his soul back.

“Hell, maybe Gwen is worth knowing and meeting, but I’m old and set in my ways. She’ll never miss not knowing my crusty old ass.”

“Will Ronnie miss not knowing her?”

Ham’s lips tightened into an annoyed frown and he tapped the car door lightly with his fist. “You give her that information.” Turning, he stalked back into the house.

Dean maneuvered them back onto a main road. Sam was already looking up the address. He’d find out everything there was to know about it and when they got back, they’d present it to Gwen. Dean hoped they’d finally hit pay dirt. At this point, he was beginning to think the box was unreachable.

Before they’d even gotten their bags from the car, Sam was going into the house through the kitchen door, calling for Gwen. Dean followed him.

She appeared from the living room, putting a finger to her lips. “Quiet. Jo’s on the phone.”

“Here.” Sam thrust the envelope with the information and key at her. 

Gwen took it and opened it, frowning in confusion. “What’s this?” She drew out the key and held it up.

“Another storage unit.”

“Another one?” She returned the key to the envelope. “You found a key and directions at the place you two went to check out?” Her eyes narrowed, suspicion in her eyes, and a half smile on her lips. “Is this some kind of elaborate joke? Just tell me now and we can all pretend I ran around like an idiot and you got a good laugh.” 

“It’s not a joke. We did find it there. Why don’t you check it out for us?”

“What, like now?”

“Why not?”

“Well, because Jo’s on the phone with Sophie and we’re thinking about meeting up with her and giving her moral support.”

“What’s going on,” Sam asked. He took a couple steps towards the living room.

“Mick showed up.”

“Wait, what?” Sam peered into the front room at Jo. She was pacing, talking in hushed tones. “What do you mean he showed up?”

Dean’s question exactly. What had Mick been doing for three months? 

“I mean he showed up. She said he just knocked on her motel room door and gave her some song and dance about not knowing where he’s been since Christmas.”

Sam glanced at her, then returned to watching Jo pace. “He’s been missing for three months.”

“Uh…I know.”

“Demon,” Dean asked. “He get jumped?”

“He told her he doesn’t remember anything and she’s all upset and wants us to come give her moral support while they talk things through.”

“Seriously?” Dean took off his jacket. “You’re thinking of driving hours to wherever they are just to watch Sophie grill Mick?”

“We are.”

“Jo can handle it.” Sam turned to face them. “Let her go and you go to the unit.”

Gwen groaned, her shoulders slumping. She leaned against the counter. “Sam, I’m tired of searching storage units. I need to go do something completely unrelated to supernatural trouble. This is a domestic thing.”

“I’d take the storage unit,” Dean interjected. 

She eyed him a long moment. “You know something I don’t?”

He thought about giving her a smartass answer and changed his mind at the last second. “There’s a good chance the box is there is all. Come on. Hidden key and directions? How could it not be something special?”

Gwen sighed. “You’re going to keep bugging me until I go, aren’t you?”

“Possibly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll go get packed.”

Dean stepped into the living room to listen to Jo’s end of the conversation with Sophie. He moved to the crib and picked up his son. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam was heading into his room to help Gwen pack when Dean put a hand out, stopping him.

“Go with Jo. Please?”

“Um…yeah. Sure. Why?”

“Do the tests on Mick.”

“I’m sure Sophie already did, Dean.”

“Maybe. I’d feel better about it if you’d go.”

“Why don’t you go?” He retracted the question almost immediately, noting the way Dean was gently patting Jack’s back as Jack nodded off to sleep against his shoulder. Dean wanted time with his son. “Never mind. I’ll go. But no comments about me being one of the girls. This was your idea.”

He helped Gwen to pack and gave her a long kiss goodbye outside at her car. “Be careful,” he told her, grasping her hips and holding her against him.

“I will.” She smoothed her hands across his chest under the edges of his coat. “I’ll be very careful. I know how to drive in this weather.”

‘This’ referred to the distinct possibility that there was still snow and ice on many Colorado roads. “Call when you get there?”

“I’ll try. Reception isn’t ever very good there because of the mountains.”

“So get a motel room and call from there.”

“Okay.” She raised up on tiptoe and kissed him again. “I’ll call when I get there. You be careful too and don’t let Jo and Sophie be too hard on Mick?”

He watched her drive away with a slight misgiving in his chest. He really didn’t want to become embroiled in Sophie and Mick’s relationship drama, which was what the whole thing sounded like from what Jo had been told. Sophie thought Mick had run around on her and was hiding it and so on with the accusations. He wasn’t sure a twelve hour drive was worth having to listen to that once they got there, but Jo was determined to go and Dean wanted him to guard Jo, so off they went.

Sam made a silent prayer that Gwen would be safe as he and Jo headed out on the road. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The creature that had been Mick, and was really liking being Mick right now, ended the call. “There now. That wasn’t so difficult, was it Soph.?” He tugged the gag down so she could talk.

Her lips parted. He admired the beautiful cut he’d put across her cheek and the split in her lower lip still crusted with dried blood. “What are you?” Her voice gave only the barest hint of the terror she was trying to hide from him.

“I’m shadow and darkness, baby.” He grinned, sliding a finger along her other cheek. Soft skin, so very soft, but he couldn’t rip into it like he wanted, not yet. Later. Later he’d feast on her. “I’m what you see out of the corner of your eye that disappears when you try to see it straight on. I’m the shadow that isn’t really there that creeps in and steals your soul.”

“Demon.”

“They wish they could be me. Kill one of them and it means nothing on this earth. Kill me….” He laughed. “It’d be very bad if I went away for good. I’m part of this place, but I’m out, and as soon as I clean up a little problem, I’m never going away ever again.” He put the gag back on her. “In the meantime…. I’ll take as many hunters as I can, starting with your friends.”

He’d start with the hunters and work his way to their prey. Really, there was little difference between the two to him. He didn’t care which he fed on and each feeding made him stronger.

He was learning about the changes in the world. So many beautiful changes that he could use to his advantage. If only he could break through the barrier in Mick’s mind to use his knowledge of them. The man was stubborn and while he was strong of will, Mick hadn’t been strong enough to keep him out. It was only a matter of time before he picked the lock to Mick’s brain and then all the man knew would be open to him.


	21. Chapter 21

Castiel had been tailing Atropos for days. He’d assumed that by following her, he’d be in place when it happened, so he spent his time tracking her movements.

What Death had done to him was cruel, leaving him unable to warn Dean, Sam, Gwen, and Jo so they’d be expecting trouble. All he could do was watch them and try to find a way around the restriction put upon him. How could one get around ‘no interference’ however? No meant none. The four were unaware of what was headed their way, yet he’d had to suffer the knowledge day after day. He’d watched them, savoring their happiness in their lives at present, yet always aware that their happiness was a bittersweet thing. Happiness could easily come crashing to a halt.

He’d thought that they’d be allowed to be happy. Everything he’d seen had pointed towards that. Jo and Dean had married and had a child together. Sam had a steady girlfriend and was truly happy with her. They had good lives, a reversal of fortune and now….

Castiel followed Atropos as she went about her job, a churning, sick sensation growing inside him as he thought about the pain that was going to happen to humans he cared about. Briefly, he thought about killing Atropos, but that would only ensure he’d be reaped. He let the thought of murdering her slip away. Death would find another way anyway if she was indisposed.

Materializing behind her, he was surprised to find all three Fates at the location. He’d expected only Atropos. This was, after all, her time to work. Why were all three there? Had they expected him to arrive and were there to make sure he wouldn’t interfere?

Clotho looked at him like she wasn’t surprised, but said nothing, returning to the paperwork she had on her clipboard. Her briefcase was at her feet.

Lachesis shook her head. She had no clipboard or briefcase. He saw disappointment flash in her eyes.

Atropos stepped over to him, urgency in her voice. “You can’t be here, Castiel. You need to leave.”

“I can be here if I don’t interrupt or get in your way.” The words were stubborn and he knew it would probably be best if he wasn’t there, but he couldn’t not be here. “I can watch.”

“Like you have these past couple weeks?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and nodded. “Fine, but if you get in the way….” It was a warning that the Fates would deal with him as well. “And I mean in the slightest bit. I’ll report you to Death so fast you won’t realize you’re being reaped. You’ll exist and then you won’t.”

She was in a bad mood and he remembered she’d voted against doing this. She’d been a firm ally in that room in heaven. “Please don’t do this,” he tried, his voice thick. “They’ve been through so much already.”

Atropos looked away, then turned, moving to stand beside Clotho.

“You and your sisters can change this,” he called after her. “You can stop it. I know you can.”

Lachesis approached him. Raising her hands, she cupped his face, thumbs sweeping his cheeks. The expression in her eyes was kind, yet held a stern glint. “Why do you cry, Castiel? They’re humans and human lives are spun, measured, and cut by design. They’re woven in and out of other lives and when they reach their conclusion….” She shook her head again. “They’re not meant to live forever, nor are any of them exempt from the pain of life. Some are destined for more than others. It is life. It may not be fair by their understanding, but there is a design to each and sometimes…the design is not what’s expected or even hoped for by them.”

He hadn’t been aware that he was crying. “Leave them alone. Must I beg? Is that what you want? I’ll beg you all to not make this happen.”

Her touch upon his face was gentle, her voice soothing. “There’s a reason we don’t become emotionally involved with those we deal with. If we did, we’d be weeping for them every minute of every day. This is set. It’s done. You can’t bargain with us.” Her hands lowered, a hand taking one of his, and she moved beside him, standing with him.

With Lachesis by his side, Castiel watched events unfold, sadness piercing him. He wanted to move forward, to stop it, but Lachesis held on to him. She was strong, as strong as he was.

When the matter was done, Clotho came forward, touching her hand to Castiel’s cheek. “You may stay, but again, you can’t stop this. Don’t try to be a hero, Castiel. It would go very badly for all if you stepped in.”

“I can help.”

“You’ll hinder. There are things happening here that you don’t know about. Stay out of it. I’m warning you.”

Wrenching his hand free of Lachesis’s grip, he took out his phone, dialing 911 and holding it up so Clotho could see it, a silent question.

The three Fates conferred with a glance and a few words.

“It won’t change anything that’s happened,” Atropos said, tucking her clipboard beneath her arm, “if that’s what you’re thinking, Castiel.”

“It won’t get in the way,” Lachesis added in a reasonable tone. “Let him.”

The unspoken words there were that it’d make him feel like he was doing something when really he wasn’t.

Clotho nodded. “It’s an acceptable action, Castiel. We three agree. You may report, but nothing more. No other action. You call and then you make no attempt to change what has occurred. Let it play out. It’s not just Death you’ll contend with if you butt in.”

Castiel pressed send as the Fates left the scene.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was annoying Sam. It wasn’t hard to miss and it was the little things that never bothered Dean that were doing it, things she did without thinking about them. Therefore, Jo was glad when they finally reach their destination. She grabbed a flashlight from the floor. Getting out of the car, she stretched. Riding in one of Bobby’s cars was always something of an adventure. She’d swear there was a spring in the seat right behind her that had been trying to drill through her back.

“I’m gonna head in.” She jerked her thumb towards the building as Sam opened the trunk to get the hunting kit they’d brought with them.

He grunted, moving things around in the trunk.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” He looked at her in question.

“You want me to carry something?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. You, uh, go calm Sophie down.”

“I doubt she’s still majorly pissed after twelve hours.” Though she couldn’t be certain of that. If Mick seemed like he was hiding something, and that was the impression Sophie had given her on the phone, she might be ready to put Mick on the rack.

“Maybe. We’ll see. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jo crossed the parking lot and tried one double door. It was open. She stepped into a large room that was going to be a reception area when it was completed. The area was dark save the light spilling in through the glass door Jo had entered through. Clicking on her flashlight, she swept the light around the room. Looked normal. There didn’t appear to be anything out of place.

She knew Dean was worried and that was why he’d sent Sam along. He had ideas of what three months missing could mean. Truthfully, she had her own reservations and they’d do all the drills before getting down to playing relationship counselors.

With a last sweep of the room with the light, Jo stepped to the door at the back of the room and called out.

“Sophie? Mick? It’s Jo. Where are you?”

She listened carefully and after a second, a reply came.

“In the back.”

Jo opened the door and walked through it.

A hand gripped her throat, her body slammed against the wall. It was Mick. The flashlight dropped from her hand. She scratched at his face, feeling skin tear beneath her nails. Blood welled up on his face. She kicked as hard as she could, the toe of her boot hitting his legs. He flung her to the side.

Jo went down hard, tripping over Sophie’s prone body and skinning her hands on the rough floor. Sophie was tied to a chair, hair covering her face, and looked too still to be alive. She had no time to examine her, Mick’s hand grabbing her hair and jerking her back towards him. He gripped her throat again, this time with both hands. She choked and gasped, unable to draw a breath.

His gaze bore into hers. Jo couldn’t look away. She felt like some part of her that was essential was being ripped away, the sort of pain felt in her soul, excruciating in the same sort of way that Zachariah’s torture had been. Panic ran full tilt inside her. He was gutting her without physically gutting her, ripping her soul free from her body and in another few seconds, she knew it would be over and she’d cease to exist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mick sniffed the air, stepping around the woman’s body. There upon the air, the delectable fragrance he’d been searching for, a mildly familiar scent. He sniffed slowly, drawing the essence inside and mulling it over.

Definitely family of the ones who’d imprisoned him. Direct family. The woman crossing the outer room had all the scents on her and he picked out what they were. Her own, another female, two male. Them.

A memory rose up.

_“Patty, don’t look in his eyes!”_

_The woman looked away right when he almost had her. Another few seconds and he could have jumped inside and ended the ritual. He writhed against his bonds, temporary things until they finished the ritual._

_“Aaron?” The man beside her didn’t understand, but also averted his eyes._

_“It’s how he gets inside, Neal. Preferred method anyway.”_

_The fourth man, in a leather jacket, held the creature’s gaze until the last second, deliberately taunting him with possibly entry, then denying him. The creature remembered with pleasure how it had almost had the man’s girlfriend. If he could have gotten to her, this never would have happened. “How do we finish this, Aaron? You do know, right?”_

_The tall one, the know-it-all leader with the thick dark hair, nodded. “Course I do. Think I’d chance this without a plan?”_

_“Always a first time,” was the grinned reply._

_“True. It takes blood to fully bind him.” He collected it from each, a drop or two mingled, then dipped his index finger in it and touched the box, empowering it with a few words._

_The creature struggled harder and then Aaron was staring at him. Few people had the ability to repel him and keep him out. It required a strong, almost inhuman will, and this man had that ability._

_No, no, no, no!_

_It could taste it’s freedom to wreak havoc upon the world slipping away._

_That hand stretched out, finger touching his forehead, linking him to the prison with that blood. With a few more words, he was ripped from the body he’d taken and shoved into the box the hunters had created. He felt it closing in around him and then nothing as the magic forced him into hibernation._

The memory made him angry and he closed his hands into tight fists. He recalled the names of the four clearly. Harvelle. Bennett. Campbell. Three men and a woman. The scent of the leader was diluted in the air, changed, feminine. His descendant was a woman. Not the one approaching, but the friend. Had to be. Gwen, Sophie had called her.

As soon as Jo stepped inside the room, he grabbed her by the throat. He’d make this quick. The one he had to find was Gwen. The leader’s child. He had to make sure she didn’t know the ritual.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen had safely arrived in Fort Collins a couple hours earlier and Sam was glad to see the end of their own trip. While Jo wasn’t as annoying as Dean could be on a trip, she had her own quirks that steadily got on his nerves. It was different when Dean was there, too. They sort of cancelled each other out and kept each other occupied.

She had a habit of skipping songs after hearing the first few seconds and claiming her finger slipped on the button. He told her more than once if she didn’t want to listen to the song, just say so, but she didn’t stop.

She’d shake her cup with ice in it and suck the tiny bits of liquid out, making the loud slurping noise through the straw, yet was appalled when he told her to ‘just eat the ice already’. ‘And ruin my teeth crunching ice, Sam?’ she’d asked.

Then when she’d done those numerous times, she’d started in with questions like, ‘why is there Braille on drive-up money machines?’

A couple times he wasn’t sure if she was doing those things on purpose in some sort of experiment she and Dean had cooked up (a distinct possibility knowing those two together) or if she was trying to make the time pass by annoying him (also a possibility). Whatever the reason, he was glad they’d arrived and didn’t have to be in a tiny enclosed space together for awhile.

Pausing in rifling through the trunk, he pulled out his phone, checking to see if he had any messages. The signal was low, but at least he had one now. It had been off and on for a few hours, thankfully on when Gwen had called. He put the phone back in his pocket.

Sam took the kit from the trunk and shouldered it, looking doubtfully at the building Sophie had told them to meet her at. It looked like a construction site. Mostly finished, yet construction nonetheless. He could smell sawdust in the air. Sophie had neglected to mention that, but if Dean’s suspicions ended up being true, they’d have privacy to deal with anything gone wrong with Mick. Jo had already gone in and he followed slowly, not ready to spend an evening listening to Mick get raked over coals by the two women. He crossed the outer room, then rapped on the inner door and opened it. “Hey --”

The inner room was only partially completed, the scent of fresh drywall added to the sawdust. Plastic still curtained off part of the area. In front of one section of plastic Jo was on her knees, her neck in Mick’s grasp. She was making choking noises, prying at his hands. Her face was turning an alarming shade of purple. Sophie was on the floor, tied to a chair, her eyes closed and body limp. Sam couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. Dropping the bag, he drew his gun, aimed and fired.

Mick whirled from the hit, dropping Jo to the floor. He hissed, an animal sound the human body didn’t naturally make.

Sam took two steps closer and fired twice more. He could see now that it wasn’t Mick, but something riding him, looking out of his eyes. The thing came forward to meet him, the impact of his body pushing Sam to the floor. The gun went flying, Mick’s hands around his throat like they’d been around Jo’s. It occurred to him that besides holding him down, the thing wasn’t hurting him. It was staring down into his eyes, like it expected something to happen, keeping him fairly immobile. He twisted, breaking eye contact, reaching blindly with one hand for something to use as a weapon while the other clawed at the hands at his neck.

Black spots danced on the edges of his vision.

He found something in the dust on the floor, something rough, and grabbed it, swinging as hard as he could at Mick’s head. The thing grunted, releasing him to crouch a few feet away. The malice and hate that roiled in his eyes surpassed anything Sam had ever seen from a demon. This thing was definitely evil and he thought it was old, too. Fear slid through him. What the hell was this thing? A part of his mind struggled to identify it from what had been in that book Bobby had. Shadow walker? Soul eater? One of those two or a completely different creature?

An eerie growl left it, a cross between that weird hiss and a lion’s growl. The thing fled.

Sam sat up. Why? What had caused it to flee? He dropped the sliver of wood he’d used to hit it and pulled a large splinter from his palm before hurrying to Jo. “Jo!” Her eyes were closed and she was as limp and still as Sophie. Sam prayed she was only unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~

He was hurt, injured. While he’d heal, the pain made him angry, as did the man who’d appeared before he could kill the Harvelle heir. The man had a strong will of the unwavering sort Aaron Bennett had, only he wasn’t a part of the Bennett line. He didn’t have the smell. It was the Campbell scent on him.

The strong will meant that he couldn’t enter his body and eat his soul, nor could he finish with the woman with that man present. So how did he cripple them before they got together and stopped him? He’d go after the other woman. And when they were crippled and unable to act, he’d toy with the rest, take his time, and enjoy the sport of killing off the family lines.

He stalked along the road. Taking out the phone he’d stolen from Sophie, he found the proper name in the address section and made a call.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two large metal trunks were on wooden flats at the back of the 10x10 room. There were no symbols on or around them and only after extensive searching did Gwen open the first one.

Inside was a box of pictures. She put it to one side to look at in a minute. The rest of the box was filled with rows of composition notebooks, the old kind with black and white covers. Choosing one at random, she opened it to about the middle. The handwriting was neat and rested smack dab on each line like the author had written using a ruler as the guide.

‘ _He deserves happiness, don’t get me wrong. I understand why he doesn’t want any of us to meet her yet. After the soul eater killed his parents and went after Brenda, I get why Bill’s being cautious. Hazard of the life. Takes awhile to bring a civilian into our circle, but from all he’s said about Ellen, I think she’ll fit right in. Talks about her constantly. Think Bill’s found his soul mate._ ’

Gwen flipped open the front page. On the inside cover were the initials ‘A.J.B.’ crossed out and replaced by ‘A.J.C.’. He’d reinvented himself it seemed. Beneath the initials was a number and she checked a few other books. They were all numbered, the earlier ones more childish in tone, the writing less sure and practiced. She found notes on creatures she’d never heard of just in the first book.

How old had he been when he’d written in the first book. Eleven maybe? Twelve perhaps?

With a shaking hand, she pulled out the last book. It was only half written in, the pages filled with diagrams and spells, symbols she recognized and symbols she didn’t. The last entry made her pause.

‘ _I named her Gwen. Mia didn’t have a say, I wouldn’t let her. It’s the least the witch could do considering her plans. The baby has been Gwen in my head since the day we knew Mia was pregnant, even though she could have turned out to be a boy. I knew she was a girl. Saw it. My special girl, precious gift. Mom will be happy I named her that. I think she’ll appreciate the gesture even if she doesn’t like Mia._

_Mia. I still can’t believe I was so blinded as to not see what she was. We all were, except my parents. They somehow saw her and knew. How? What tipped them off? They tried to tell me two years ago and I wouldn’t listen. I should’ve. I didn’t see it._

_I got myself into this and I’ll get myself, and Gwen, out of it. I have to. For Gwen’s sake. Can’t ask dad for help. I’m a man now. That’s what he told me. “Aaron, you’re a man now and a man does what he has to to keep his family safe.” I have to be a man. Have to. No other choice._

_Does a man ever get past the point of wanting his dad to come in at the last second and make things okay? I don’t have that option._

_Maybe when it’s all over I’ll take Gwen to meet them. Mom will like that. Maybe we can patch things up.’_

He’d ended the journal there, maybe planning to take up a new one when he reinvented himself once more. But he’d never gotten the chance. Instead, he’d been killed by Mia and Gwen had been rescued at the last minute by his friend, Neal Campbell.

Gwen put the books back and moved to the second trunk. It had a jacket, a couple shirts, and more books. The books were published volumes. A couple she recalled having seen on Bobby’s shelves. She picked up the jacket. It was a man’s jacket, about Sam and Dean’s size, no stains of any kind on it that she could see. Just stored perhaps. The shirts were clean of stains as well and very seventies in the fabric pattern and shape of the collar. She smiled at that. Retro. Were they Aaron’s then? She surmised they must be since they were in one of his trunks.

She kept digging in the trunk, looking through the books and there, on the bottom, beneath everything, was a knife. Gwen remembered Neal having one just like it. Iron, with his initials on the blade. Christian had taken it when Neal died, wearing it proudly as part of his personal arsenal. He’d offered it to her first, but she’d known how much he’d wanted it and let him take it for himself. She studied this knife.

‘A.J.B.’ on the blade by the handle. Had they gotten them at the same time, she wondered?

When she’d thoroughly investigated the room and contents and decided there was a ton of information they needed to take home and go through, she went to the box that had been set just inside the door. It was just like the drawing. She dialed Dean, surprised when it went through without failing. That was like a miracle. Her attempt to call Sam as soon as she’d walked in and seen the box had failed. “Hey, Dean, guess what I found,” she asked when he answered. She could hear Jack making noises in the background. Gwen slid a finger along the box. It was a lot prettier than she’d thought it’d be, almost like a work of art due to the design of the symbols.

“Mmm…. Is it like the drawing we copied and has Trickster stink all over it?”

“Bingo,” she sing-songed. “Walked in and there it was, right by the door, like they just shoved it in to get rid of it.”

“Maybe they did.”

Her phone beeped. “Hey, hold on. Got another call. It’s Sophie.” She switched over. “Hi. How goes the Mick grill?”

Sophie sounded off, her voice a little gruff, though maybe it was the service Gwen had in this area. “Where are you?”

“Went to check out a property. Didn’t Jo and Sam tell you? They get there okay?”

“They’re fine and no, they didn’t tell me. Are you anywhere near here?”

‘Here’ was Craig, Colorado, about four hours or so west of where she was. She’d contemplated going with them and swinging across to Fort Collins on the way back, but Gwen was glad she’d done this alone. She’d had a couple hours to sit and look through Aaron’s things. “Uh…I’m near Fort Collins. Why?”

“Would you be willing to pick up Mick?”

“Why, what’s going on?” Sophie sounded oddly breathless and Gwen pressed her ear tighter to the phone.

“I just can’t be in a car with the inconsiderate louse. Would you pick him up for me?”

Why couldn’t he jump a car or something and get himself there, she wondered. They did it all the time. “I don’t know, Sophie. That’s quite a haul just to pick him up.” Not to mention he and Sam could ride together. What was going on?

“Please, Gwen. I don’t trust him not to leave again if he’s by himself.”

Still hadn’t ironed out their issues, she saw.

“He pissed off Sam, too,” Sophie added and Gwen sighed.

“Okay, fine…I guess. It’ll be awhile before I can get there though. What’s the address again?” She made arrangements to pick up Mick and switched back to Dean. “Dean, I gotta go. Sophie wants me to come pick up Mick. Apparently he’s managed to piss all of them off and not just Sophie. I need to go referee.”

“Okay. Later.”

She picked up the box, locked up the building, and set the box in the backseat of the car before getting in and starting it up. Her phone rang, Sam’s number, but when she went to answer it, the signal dipped to nothing. “Great.” She headed towards Craig, stopping once to use a gas station phone only to discover it was out of order, a thing that had caused the clerk to curse a blue streak on the inadequacies of the phone company. “Guess I’m not meant to call Sam back yet,” she muttered under her breath as she drove away.

It was later than she’d thought it’d be by the time she reached the town and she sat for a moment, studying the parking lot. There were no cars, no people. Where were they all? Gwen drew out her phone. Still no signal. She could see she had messages, text and voice both -- a lot of them, but couldn’t get them. Slowly, she got out of the car, looking around the area. There was still no one in sight. “Mick,” she called cautiously, drawing her gun. Better to be prepared than not.

It was silent, not even the sound of wind or traffic from other roads.

“Hey Gwen.”

She gasped, whirling. Mick was at the passenger side, hands resting on the roof of the car. He hadn’t been there a minute ago. “Mick. Hey. Where did you come from?”

“Hey.” He pointed at the overhang from the building. “I was right over there. You didn’t see me?”

“No. Where are Sophie, Jo, and Sam?”

“Left.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m supposed to ride with you?” He shrugged, looking more than a little chagrined. “Sophie’s a little pissed with me right now.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t fillet you. Three months, Mick.” Slowly, she put her gun away.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…gone.” He drew in a deep breath and smiled. “Shall we?”

“Get in.” He did, but Gwen hesitated a minute. Something didn’t feel quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Nothing he’d said was strange. She could totally see Jo and Sophie leaving his ass behind if he made them mad. She’d do it herself. But would Sam? She drew out her phone and held it up, but the signal didn’t change, continuing to be abysmal. Even if Sam was pissed with Mick, would he leave him there?

Indecision tugged at her.

A movement to her left caught her eye and she turned her head. For a flash of a second, she though she saw a woman standing under the overhang where Mick claimed to have been. Gwen squinted, but it was too dark to see for sure.

“We going?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She got in and started the car. “They just left you?”

“Sophie said something about how waiting in the cold for hours would be good for my lying ass.”

That did sound like Sophie. “How did you piss off Jo and Sam?”

“I may have told them to mind their own business a little too forcefully.”

She could almost hear Sam saying, ‘hey man, I’m just here to help, but if you don’t want it, I’m outta here.’

Mick leveled a contrite expression her way. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you all.”

She put the car in gear and pulled onto the road, gradually becoming aware of an odd smell coming from his direction. It was faint and subtle. She recognized it, but what was it? Gwen frowned, trying to sniff and identify that smell without him realizing she was sniffing him.

Mick wasn’t much for conversation this time, staying silent for the most part. He seemed content to watch the scenery pass by in dark blurs.

She glanced at him. “You have no idea what happened in West Virginia?”

“No. Last thing I remember was the Siren.”

“Did you get her?”

His grin was slow and gave her the creeps, a thing she’d never felt with Mick before. “Oh, I got her alright. I took care of her.”

“Well…. Good.”

A sign flashed by on the right. Winding road ahead. Gwen touched the brakes and slowed down a bit. She knew from coming across this way earlier that there was still some ice on the road.

“It was.” He shifted in the seat and the smell was suddenly clear.

Carrion. That was what she smelled. The scent of something dead, with the underscore of old blood.

In tiny glances, by the light of the dashboard, Gwen studied Mick. “Are you okay?” This was a bad road to be on if he wasn’t Mick after all. Winding, icy, dangerous. No place to turn around for a long while yet. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Why would you ask that?” His voice was sharp, suspicious.

“You just don’t seem like yourself is all.”

“I’m fine…Gwen.”

Her glance lowered briefly to his coat. “Is that a bullet hole,” she asked. She’d noticed it earlier but hadn’t thought a thing of it. They all had clothes with bullet holes and other marks of their trade adorning them. Clothes were always getting ripped to shreds. In the dark of the car, it was hard to tell and she expected to see him smile and start in with some outlandish tale as to how it had gotten there. It was what Mick would do.

“Yes.”

Though she waited, no story was forthcoming. “How did you get it,” she prompted, praying he’d start in with a tale and knowing he wasn’t going to because this wasn’t Mick with her. It was something that was very good at pretending to be him.

Mick turned in his seat, removing his seatbelt, letting it retract with a hard ‘thwack’.

“What are you doing? Are you nuts? This road is terrible. Put that back on.”

“Sam shot me, Gwen.”

“What?”

“Three times and the third time wasn’t a charm. Not for him anyway.”

“What did you do to him?” She was going too fast for the curves. Gwen knew it and she couldn’t stop, her mind racing as to how to get herself out of this situation. She could slam on the brakes, yet the road had enough ice on it still that that would be a bad decision for both of them even if she was wearing her seatbelt.

“A little of this, a little of that. Tell me, did daddy teach you the ritual?”

“What ritual?” She reached for her gun and found it yanked from her hand and tossed in the backseat.

The thing slid closer, the carrion smell increasing. “I’ll take that as a no.”

He launched himself at her and then the car was out of her control, spinning and lurching into air, a clump of trees coming up awfully fast. She didn’t have time to do anything as the thing posing as Mick kept up his attack upon her. The pain of the impact was incredible, so much pain it was impossible to Gwen that she could feel it at all. She tasted blood, saw the satisfied smile of the thing as he climbed from the wreckage surrounding her, and gasped for a breath through lungs that felt like they were on fire.

Cold, she was so cold.

No. No, this wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be.

Her vision went blurry, strength seeping from her body.

I’m dying, she thought.

Gwen heard the thump of something falling close by. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, what looked like a small ribbon of shimmering light stretching towards her. She tried to reach for it, fingers twitching but not moving.

There was a tingling warmth on her skin and then everything went dark.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean’s hands were shaking as he took Jack from the car and walked towards the hospital. He’d been in a weird, almost numb state the entire drive, concentrating on keeping Jack calm. Babies responded to their parent’s moods, at least Jack did, and Dean’s mood at present wasn’t good. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut repeatedly, nausea a steady companion.

The emergency room was busy, a crowd of people present. He searched the rows of chairs until he found Sam. His head in his hands. He didn’t look up, nor did he seem to register anyone around him. The only empty seats were surrounding him, two on either side. Dean could imagine why.

Jo was sitting just down from him, bruises on her neck and gauze bandages on her hands. Sophie was slumped in the chair beside her and looked like she was asleep. She had a cast on one arm and a large bandage covering one cheek. Her lower lip looked raw and infected. Jo stood, moving into Dean’s embrace, clinging to him like he clung to her, their son cradled between them.

“You’re okay,” he asked, looking her over. She looked tired, but otherwise fine.

“You didn’t believe Sam?” Jo’s voice was a bare whisper and she winced as she talked. 

He had, but at the same time, he hadn’t. He’d had to see her alive and okay with his own eyes. His stomach had flipped about inside him when Sam had called directly after the creature had attacked them and for a second, he hadn’t heard Sam say that Jo was fine. He’d felt a false pain of loss until Sam had repeated that Jo was fine. “You lost consciousness?”

Jo nodded. “Not for long.”

“Is Sophie okay,” he asked, glancing at her.

“Broken arm and the cut on her cheek needed stitches.”

He turned his gaze to Sam. He’d saved the worst part for last, dreading what Jo was going to say. He’d been over halfway here when Jo had called to say that Gwen had been wheeled into the emergency room, having barely survived a bad accident. At the time, the only report they’d had was that she was breathing. “How’s Gwen?”

“In surgery right now. They said they’d let us know when we can go to another waiting room, but it looks like we’re going to be here awhile. It’s still touch and go, I guess.”

He could feel her shaking against him and eased her back into her chair, taking the one beside her.

“Dean, we were just getting ready to leave after they put the cast on Sophie when they brought her in.” She shook her head. “Sam saw her as they wheeled her by. She was a mess. He recognized her somehow. She had blood everywhere, cuts and bruises and….” She swallowed hard. “He freaked. They couldn’t calm him down. He was in the way….” Jo bit her lip. “They warned him several times before they just sedated him.”

He knew how he’d react to seeing Jo that way and for Sam it’d be a hundred times worse. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn Sam had had a flashback to when Jess had died. In fact, he’d bet it had happened. “They sedated him?”

“Yeah. Sedated him. He just woke up a bit ago, hasn’t said a word. Just keeps staring into space.” Reaching over, she took Jack from him. “The accident has been all over the news. They keep showing pictures of the car…. I don’t know how she’s even alive. It was flattened, Dean. The driver’s side….” Tears slipped from her eyes. “No one walks away from a crash like that, I don’t care who you are. It’s just not possible.”

“Gwen’s a fighter, that’s all. She’s fighting to hang on. That report say anything about a passenger in the car?” 

“No, why?”

“She was on her way to pick up Mick or maybe she already had.”

Jo’s eyes closed and she sobbed. “Oh, God, no….”

He realized she hadn’t known about that. “Sam didn’t tell you?”

“I was taking care of Sophie. He started calling Gwen, over and over, but he didn’t….” She put a hand over her mouth.

“We’ll think about it later,” he told her. “We’ll talk about it once she’s out of the worst, okay?” Dean pulled her close again, arm around her and Jack both, pressing a kiss to her temple. When her sobs lessened, he sat back and dug the room key from his pocket. “Here. Take it. It’s just down the street. You and Sophie take Jack and rest, get some food. Ellen and Bobby will be here tomorrow morning. I’ll stay with Sam.”

It took some convincing, but she finally agreed, leading a drugged-to-the-gills Sophie off with her. When they’d gone, he sat beside Sam. “I’m here, Sammy,” he told him in a low voice.

Sam’s shoulders shook and he gasped, raising his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. “News,” he ordered in a tight voice.

Dean could see he was suppressing his emotion as much as possible, choking it back, and nodded. “I’ll go see if there’s any.” In minutes he was back. The only news available was that she was still in surgery and still alive so far.

Relief that Gwen was alive and hadn’t died since whenever the last time he’d gotten an update flashed in Sam’s eyes. He didn’t say anything else, letting his head drop back into his hands.

“I’m gonna get us some coffee. Be back in a few minutes.” Before leaving on that errand, he stepped out and called Ronnie. Bracing himself for a confrontation with Ham, he was glad when it was Ronnie who answered. The line went silent after he’d explained what had happened, so silent he thought the call had dropped. “Ronnie?”

“I’m here, Dean.” Her voice was faint and very sad. “Do you know anything yet?”

“Not much, just that it’s bad. If you ever want to meet her, I suggest you get here fast because we have no idea which way this’ll go.”

“I understand.”

He heard sobs and she hung up without saying another word.

It was hours more before they had real news. Gwen made it through surgery, but wasn’t out of the woods yet. She was in the ICU in critical condition and hadn’t once woken. Dean closed his eyes and winced at that. To say she was in bad shape was an understatement. Like Jo had said when he’d gotten there, no one walked away from a crash like that and Gwen was somehow alive.

How? What had happened to keep her from dying instantly? Dean agreed that there was no way she should even be alive. Flattened was right. The car was totaled. If the Mick creature had been in the car with her, he’d likely caused the crash to kill her, knowing he’d survive it, so what had saved her? She’d found the box, he did know that. Had she taken it with her? He tried to think it all through, yet with the tension and emotions rising up, Dean couldn’t think straight. Not yet.

Ellen and Bobby arrived, Ellen taking up position claiming to be Gwen’s mother and Bobby taking the investigation end. He’d go over every inch of the accident, find out what had happened.

Getting Sam to leave the waiting room or Gwen’s room was difficult. He’d arrive as soon as they’d let him in and had to be forced to leave when hours were over. It took two days before he’d say anything except to make demands for information. After a few days, Gwen was downgraded from critical and moved to a room out of the ICU. It was progress of a sort, though the outlook remained the same. They had no idea if she was going to come out of it or slip into death without ever waking up first.

Gwen looked better than he thought she should. Upon that first visit he’d made in the ICU, he’d expected to see her encased in a cast, her face smashed, body stitched like Frankenstein’s monster, and that wasn’t the case. She did have healing cuts and bruises on her face, the left side her face swollen, but she really did look good for the circumstances. There weren’t nearly the amount of stitches or bruises he’d assumed would be there. It would have been encouraging except for the part where she remained unconscious.

Sam ate little. When Dean and Jo couldn’t get him to eat, Ellen took over, physically hauling him to the cafeteria and putting food in front of him. She wouldn’t let him leave without eating something. In response, Sam reached new heights of bitter sarcasm. He’d take a single bite and declare, “Something,” then stare Ellen down until she’d nod and look away. Normally Ellen didn’t take attitude or crap, but they all understood Sam’s state of mind. He was in a bad place, the very place Dean had hoped he’d never descend into again.

He had all of them there with him this time, people who loved him who weren’t going to let him push them away. They’d fight to hold on to him.

Dean and Jo took turns staying at the motel with Jack. Babies hadn’t been allowed in the ICU and they were reluctant to have him at the hospital at all. Sophie stuck around. Either she remained in a state of shock about all that had happened or her meds were super strong, for she spent much of her time staring into space like Sam did. Dean didn’t try to talk to her, not yet. He’d sit down with her soon and ask her detailed questions about what the thing in Mick had done to her. The sooner they found out what it was and tracked it down the better.

He spent time online, some of it just looking up random things, some researching the Bennett family, and some scaring up new jobs that were nearby in case any of them felt like working. There wasn’t much. A possible Lady in White and a possible demon possession. After some discussion, they passed both on to other hunters and Dean returned his attention to the Bennett family. He turned up a few interesting tidbits on them, like Ham being the seventh son of a seventh son, a thing that didn’t happen very often. It was as interesting a tidbit as Aaron having been born with a caul.

When he wasn’t at the hospital or online, he helped Bobby investigate the crash, an investigation that had turned up a few things only because they were suspicious anyway. Nearly two weeks after the crash, he sat down in the hospital cafeteria with Ellen and Jo to discuss those things.

Jo cradled Jack against her. He was wide-eyed, watching everything over her shoulder while chewing on his fist. He’d been fed and changed before Jo had brought him. 

Dean opened the folder Bobby had given him. “Her car went over the side deliberately. Wasn’t an accident. There were no brake marks near the edge, like she tried to stop, no ice, nothing.”

“No. _No_.” Jo shook her head. “Gwen isn’t suicidal.”

He held up a hand. “I’m not saying she is. Obviously, the call she got wasn’t Sophie as she was unconscious with a broken arm in the car you and Sam took to meet her. There _was_ someone in the car with her. It was Mick. She did pick him up.” He let the words sink in. “Plus, a witness to the crash reported a man in the car with her.” 

“Witness?” Ellen uncrossed her arms and sat forward. “On _that_ road? What are the chances of that? Got a name?”

“A conveniently missing witness. No name. Male. Reported the accident, said two people were there, but only Gwen was present when paramedics and police got there. They searched for the other party and didn’t find him.” He laid one piece of paper out, sliding it forward for them to look at. “They found prints. Mick’s. He was definitely there with her. It was him. He comes up in the system for much of the same things Sam and I do. Theft, credit card fraud, vandalism, murder, and now the police want him for questioning.”

“He sought her out.” Jo sighed. “Damn it.”

Ellen snagged the top picture and stared at it. It was a picture of the wreck. “She was almost killed.” Her voice was tired and she looked every bit her age at the moment.

It was Dean’s turn to shake his head. “She wasn’t almost killed, Ellen, she was _supposed_ to be killed. Read through the report. Every person at that scene said there was no way she should be alive with the mess that car was in. Driver’s side hit a freakin’ grove of trees. She should be dead, as in dead long before arrival, but she wasn’t. She was alive and breathing, just not conscious. One guy told Bobby she had to have had an angel or two huggin’ her all the way over, keeping her safe from the worst, that it was a miracle.”

“Cas? Abby?” Ellen looked at him.

Jo understood before Ellen did. “The box. You said before that she found it. She had it with her, didn’t she? It opened, released his magic.”

He gave a slow nod. “It did. Bobby found the pieces at the site.” He fished out a picture of the open box from an envelope and handed it to her, very glad Gwen had had the foresight to take the box with her instead of opening it at the unit. If she’d opened it earlier, she would’ve died for sure. “I think she was dying and it opened or she opened it, turned events to her favor…somewhat anyway. Hopefully she’ll wake up soon and we’ll know for sure what happened.”

Ellen put the picture in her hands down. “It ended up doing what Aaron had intended it to all along. It saved his daughter.”

The realization sat with them, hugging them all, but Dean wasn’t comforted by that. Gwen had come too close to death and still might die if her body didn’t begin to heal itself. He had a weird hunch that there was far more going on than they knew about. The pieces of this were too smooth, fit together too easily, and nagged at him. Sam was right in that too much coincidence was suspicious and this was too much coincidence. Mick went after Jo, Sam, and Sophie, then managed to get a call in to Gwen through the mountains from Craig to Fort Collins when the rest of them had trouble? Reception in the mountains was notoriously difficult. Dean had gotten one call from Gwen’s cell and the only call Sam had received was from a landline at a motel. None of Sam’s calls to Gwen to warn her over the hours she would have been driving to Craig had gone through, yet the creature was able to call her? Gwen found the box only to need it hours later? Right. Too smooth. Suspicious and Dean hated that suspicion.

Knowing some of what he did about the way things worked with Death and angels, he was afraid there was some behind-the-scenes manipulation of events going on. The idea made anger prick at him. He was damn tired of all of them being manipulated.

“Do we tell Sam,” Jo asked in a quiet voice. “About the supposed to be dead part?”

“Hell, no.” Dean collected the papers and pictures and shoved them back in the folder. “You heard him the past few days? He hears this he’ll go over the edge.”

“Or think Cas and Abby intervened,” Ellen suggested.

“He won’t. Look, I know Sam. Only thing he’ll be thinking no matter what he hears about the crash is that this is another example of how he’s cursed and can’t have a relationship. Gwen needs him right now and I won’t have him walking away while she can’t fight to keep him.”

It was terribly true. Sam was already very close to curling into a ball and cutting himself off from women for the rest of his life, Gwen included. Dean could see it happening and wasn’t sure how to stop it. He hoped she’d wake soon and fight for her man. Gwen waking soon would do far more for Sam than anything Dean could do at present.

“Where’s Sam going?” Ellen indicated the doorway with a hand.

Sam was walking down the hall away from Gwen’s room.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered. “You two stay here.” He set off after Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Abigael appeared, she had an idea what to expect already. She’d been with Dean and Jack on the drive here, an invisible presence doing her best to keep Jack calm so Dean could concentrate on driving and then she’d stuck around, watching and waiting. It wasn’t a complete surprise that Sam called for her. The only surprise was that he didn’t try Castiel first, yet when she thought about it, she supposed this was logical. Abigael had healed Gwen once before, a connection Castiel had told her to make.

Sam didn’t start with any greeting or pleasantry, going straight to his request. “Heal her. Please.”

Abigael knew she had to be gentle with Sam. He was in a precarious place right now. “I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t.”

“You can. I know you can. You healed her ankle in Las Vegas. You can heal this. Don’t tell me you can’t.” 

The hope in his eyes about broke her heart. He was grasping at straws, going through horrible emotional pain. “Sam…. I’m not allowed to. I have charges in my care and Gwen isn’t one of them. I’m not allowed to heal anyone aside from my charges.”

“Since when,” he demanded, that light of hope fading, replaced by anger and betrayal.

Of course he’d see this as a betrayal of sorts. She’d helped before. By his reasoning, she should again. While she understood that reasoning, it didn’t mean she could do it. “Castiel received new instructions from God himself. I can heal my charges and only them.”

“Who determines your charges? Cas? Get him down here. Have him assign her to you.”

“No, Sam. That’s not how it works.” She shook her head.

“Then tell me how it works. What do I have to do to get her healed? What angel do I have to talk to?”

“You can’t do anything or talk to anyone. This isn’t something you can bargain on. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” She licked her lips. “It’s under New Heaven.”

“New heaven sucks.”

“The rules --”

“Screw the rules, Abby. You healed her once.”

“Before New Heaven.”

“I don’t care.” He jabbed a finger at her and at the hospital. “You get in there and make her well.”

She was trying to be as gentle as possible and it was only making him angry. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Sam. I can’t. I’ll be removed from my position if I do and severely chastised for stepping outside my bounds. Balance hangs on me retaining my current position. Lives hang on it.”

“But not Gwen’s.”

Abigael didn’t reply. Gwen’s life wasn’t hers to save, at least not in Gwen’s current position. Under other circumstances she’d be able to go in there and heal her body, but not now.

Sam snorted. “Then why did you come?”

“You asked me to. You called for me and I answered. It’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends?” His emotions were all over his face right now. The pain, the sorrow, and fear.

“Beginning stages, I suppose.”

“Then why won’t you help? Friends help. If you’re a friend, you should help her.”

She suppressed a sigh. “Sam.”

“You have a shitty concept of what friends are. If you can’t…or won’t…help her, then what good are you?” He stalked back into the building. He was lashing out, his anger, fear, and worry a jumble inside him.

“So, just out of curiosity….” Dean stepped into view. She knew he’d been there, listening to every word. “Who _is_ your charge and the reason you hang around?” He sauntered close. “Way I see it, it’s got to be one of us, but which one? Me? It’s not Gwen obviously. Sam? Jo maybe?” He said the names like he already knew the answer.

“I can’t divulge that information. It’s privileged and you don’t have privileges.” She started to turn away, but his hand lashed out, grabbing her arm. If she’d been human, the grip would have hurt.

“I do when it concerns my son.”

She flicked a sidelong glance his way. “Let me go, Dean.”

His eyes narrowed, taking in her response and reading it correctly. “I’m right, aren’t I?” He squeezed her arm more tightly. “Jack’s your charge, the one you’re protecting.”

“Release me.” She tugged her arm slightly. She could make him release her, but would rather it didn’t come to that. “Please.”

From the corner of the building came Castiel’s voice. “Let her go, Dean. She’s only doing her job.”

“Since when is her job Jack’s care?”

“Since his birth,” Castiel snapped, stepping forward. Abigael could see the lines of strain on his face and the worry and sick fear he shared with them all over Gwen. He disliked being made helpless to aid them; hated being made to watch while they were put through the ringer.

She wasn’t surprised Castiel said it plainly. If he didn’t answer, Dean would push until he found the answer another way.

“No.” Dean released her arm like it had suddenly caught fire, practically shoving her away. “No!”

“Yes. Jack was among the list of important individuals who must be watched over.”

“No. I don’t accept that. He has no damn special destiny with you angels.”

“That’s not what it means.” Castiel moved to put himself between her and Dean, protecting her, she suddenly realized.

“Then explain it to me, nice and slow.”

“All it means is that if his life goes off-track due to outside influences, that natural order will be jeopardized and we can’t let that happen. Abigael is simply to make certain order is kept. There’s no special destiny planned for Jack that I’m aware of. He’s one of many key individuals around the world. Most aren’t even hunters. A couple future politicians, medical doctors, scientists, and some who’ll be average people, yet will affect things in how they live their lives. Key events in the world hinge on such lives, Dean. You know well that one life can change the world for better or worse.”

“Sounds like a special destiny to me.”

“It’s not.”

“Can you promise me that, Cas? _Will_ you promise?”

“Yes.”

She could see that Dean wanted to believe it, but his treatment at the hands of previous angels left him skittish on their promises. He was naturally skeptical. “You’re lying,” he said, yet the words lacked conviction. He wanted desperately to believe Jack had no special life planned out by higher forces.

“I’m not. If Jack dies before his natural time, events that must occur will be disrupted.”

“Who are her other charges?”

“Currently she has Jack and a newborn in Maine. In the future, if you and Jo have more children, they’ll also be her charges.”

“And Sam? What if he has kids?”

“Biological children of his would be hers as well.”

“So, in other words, all of our kids will have a freakin’ special destiny.”

“No. Dean….” Castiel sighed. “Your family is a unique case. You and Sam have done more to destroy natural order in the past few years than anyone ever in the history of the world. We’re to make sure that doesn’t continue to happen.”

“Amazing what two human men can do to change the course of the world,” Abigael said, garnering a sharp warning look from Castiel. She bit her lip. She should choose her words carefully. Dean Winchester had a knack for figuring things out that were right between the lines.

Dean looked at her, then back at Castiel. “Tell me about Gwen.”

“What about her?” Castiel took a few steps to one side, body turning slightly away from Dean. His tone was cautious.

Dean turned the same way.

The two looked for all the world like they were sizing each other up.

“She was supposed to die in that crash, wasn’t she?” Dean’s gaze reflected the suspicions he had. He knew something wasn’t right. Already, he was putting pieces together.

A thin line. They were now treading a thin line between what should and shouldn’t be known. Too much information would give away the tense arguments that had ringed that conference room in heaven. Too much would give away just what they’d known ahead of time. What _Abigael_ knew. She had to keep silent now, let Castiel answer the questions. She couldn’t reveal some things that even Castiel was unaware of.

“She was saved, Dean. She lives and breathes. Is that not all you need to know? It was a miracle of timing. Leave it at that.”

Abigael _did_ know things Castiel didn’t, quite a few of them. She was held to secrecy, hands tied tighter than his. She saw the shape of things to come as the future rushed to become the present.

The creature that had attacked Gwen, and Jo, Sam, and Sophie, was a greater threat to natural order than Gwen. Her survival thus far was a small ripple compared to what the creature remaining alive or dying would do to the earth. She’d become suddenly useful to Death and Death would use her if doing so returned balance and order to the world.

How exactly she was useful, Abigael wasn’t sure. She assumed it was for Gwen’s suffering to piss off Sam Winchester so that he’d go after the creature. Only the Winchesters would suffice. Death had insisted that point. Only them and no others. He’d put such a stress on that. The _Winchesters_. Plural.

Piss Sam off and Dean would follow to protect Sam, a team of anger and action.

It was a fact. Sam and Dean Winchester weren’t men to underestimate. They’d defeated high level demons, Lucifer, other angels, pagan gods, and countless other creatures, yet survived in the end. It wasn’t just the world that needed them however. Whether Sam and Dean liked it or not, heaven also needed them. They were agents of God, Fate, and Death as much as the angels were.

She hated that they were being manipulated; that they were suffering and would suffer a bit longer. She hated that Sam was right in a way. Their concept of friendship had to be different than the human concept. They _were_ friends, but with the boundaries established by their roles in the universe.

Angels still had to do their jobs and there were times when it would be a betrayal of the human idea of friendship. Like now.

“You know something,” Dean said. He was looking right at her and Abigael forced her expression to remain neutral.

Castiel answered him. “I know plenty of things of heavenly nature that men shouldn’t be aware of. Take the miracle of her living after that crash and walk away. Just walk away, Dean.”

Miracle. It was what people were saying in this small community. The word miracle was being bandied about and people were believing it as such. The local headline the day after the crash had read, ‘woman miraculously alive after fatal crash’. The article had given the gory details, making it clear that this was something special and unique.

“Will she survive this injury?”

A small spasm of emotional pain on Castiel’s face. “Don’t push. I can’t tell you and we can’t intervene. What should happen will happen.” He spoke with blind faith that it was true because really, he had to believe at this point that it was. He had to believe that Death and the Fates had made the right decision and he was praying Gwen would live in the end and that Dean would take the advice.

But this was Dean Winchester after all.

He wouldn’t walk away and she and Castiel both knew it. It was only a matter of time before he uncovered the truth of it all. She wondered if Dean would see the bigger picture, or if he’d seek vengeance on them as well as on the creature that was loose.

~~~~~~~~~~

The talk with Abigael hadn’t done Sam any good. Dean could see that he was in worse condition than before.

“I knew this’d happen.” Sam shook his head. “Always does. I’m toxic to women --”

“Stop it.” Dean didn’t soften his tone, leaving it harsh. “You’re not freakin’ cursed. Geez, Sam.” It was the same refrain he’d been hearing since the crash. Sam was cursed, he’d never have the life Dean had, and it’d be better if he was alone. They’d all kept a watch on him, afraid he’d go off and find some alternative to angelic healing that’d only hurt him in the end. So far, Sam hadn’t attempted anything of the sort, but if this went on much longer, Dean wasn’t sure that wouldn’t happen. He’d been right in that Sam was having flashbacks to Jess’s death. It wasn’t just one flashback, but a string of them every time he walked into this room. Slow, agonizingly slow death. “The whole Trickster deal? Not on you. He already had a boner for her by the time you even met her and the rest of his obsession is on Aaron.” He made a motion with his hands. “Not you.”

Sam merely stared at him, pain brimming over like tears in his eyes. He really did believe he was responsible for Gwen being in that hospital room and Dean should have seen this coming a mile away.

“As for the thing that took Mick? Not on you either. That’s on the original hunters that took it down. Not your fault the old store blew and the containment box was smashed, releasing it back into the world to go after the nearest hunters. Not your fault we’re probably part of the bloodline that contained it to begin with. Ellen was busy dragging us all to Christmas events when it happened. No way any of us could have known about it without having the Campbell mail information for that property. As for him coming after her? Not on you either. You were there with Jo and Sophie. You were backup. Gwen didn’t have that. She was alone. See? None of that is your fault.”

Sam’s gaze slid to Gwen. “I was going to ask her to marry me, Dean.”

The news stunned him. Sam had been contemplating marriage? Dean had thought he was still a long way from that. He opened his mouth and had no reply.

“I’d gotten the approximate size from a ring in her jewelry box and did some shopping. Found one that I thought looked like something she’d like. Silver band, diamonds embedded in it. Not too girly, you know? I hadn’t bought it yet. I wanted to show it to her first. I even tried to ask a few times, but every time something interrupted us.” He leaned forward and took her hand. “Like Fate telling me I’m being stupid for even thinking I’ll ever be able to have a wife. Looks like it’s not in my cards.” His thumb swept along the back of her hand. “I’ll never have the chance now to even ask her.”

“She’s not dead.”

“She might as well be. Doctors don’t have a clue what to do.”

“She’s breathing on her own. That’s a good sign.” He crossed his arms on the bedside and leaned over. “She’s in there and this attitude when you’re in here with her isn’t going to help her. She hears everything, so you tell her to hang on. You tell her how you want your wedding to go, the honeymoon you want to take her on. You tell her you love her and you don’t give up on her because you have this notion in your head that you’re cursed.” His voice got harder and colder as he spoke, trying to shake Sam from his apathy. “Gwen is _not_ a quitter. You don’t quit on her.”

Sam sighed. “Have you not been listening to them, Dean? She’s dying. Every day that passes makes it less likely she’s going to get better.”

“Haven’t _you_ been listening? The body takes time to heal. Give her time before you write her off.”

“Do you know she’ll be fine? Can you get some information out of Cas and Abby? I can’t. I can’t even find out if there’s a Reaper waiting. She could go at any time.”

He stared at Sam a long moment. “Get out of this room.”

“What?”

“Get out or I’ll throw you out.”

“Dean --”

“You heard me. Get out until you can come in here and Pollyanna her ass back to consciousness. No more pity-party. Damn it, Sam. How many times do I have to tell you that she needs you right now. _You_ , not your self-pity. Do you really love her?”

“You know I do.”

“Then you do what you have to even if that means gritting your teeth and forcing that pain down until you’re out of this room.”

“Because gritting teeth has always worked so well for us before.”

He gestured at the door. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out. You have until three. One…two…three.” When Sam made no move to leave, he raised his brows. “You agreeing or do I have to force you out?”

With a stare that indicated he thought this was stupid, Sam said, “I want to take her on a cruise. For a honeymoon.”

“Don’t tell me, tell her.”

Gradually, the stilted tone softened and Sam seemed to forget Dean was even there as he talked to Gwen, making plans that Dean hoped would some day come to pass.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was difficult to have any positive thoughts when there was nothing positive being reported on Gwen’s condition. She was simply there. Dean’s repeated attempts to knock some sense in him had helped a little, though Sam was still having trouble looking on the bright side. He didn’t see one right now.

Dean pointed out that she didn’t need the breathing tube, that it was almost like she was just asleep, waiting for the right time to wake up. That was all well and good, except Sam needed something new. He needed to hear she’d regained consciousness.

“Something’s wrong with Sophie.”

The words pierced through his racing thoughts. Sam kept his eyes closed and remained still beneath the covers, listening as Jo continued. They thought he was asleep, but sleep was impossible. He couldn’t rest, his mind unable to stop moving at a million miles a minute, conjuring up scenarios where he arrived at the hospital to find Gwen dead. When he did sleep, he woke from nightmares where everyone around him died and he was left alone. He’d relive every loss he’d ever had in his sleep. Jess, dad, Dean. Jo and Ellen. He’d relive it over and over, with Gwen added to that number. Was it any wonder he didn’t sleep?

“I’m not sure how to explain it even. She’s herself, yet she’s not at the same time. She’s a little colder, not as friendly. I mean, Sophie’s a warm person and she’s not right now. She’s…wrong.”

Jack was alternating between making ‘da-da-da’ noises and content grunts, which meant they were probably feeding him. He enjoyed his meals like Dean did, enthusiastic for each bite.

“Sure she’s not still in shock? Mick did a number on her.”

For lack of a better thing to call whatever had taken Mick over, they were just using his name. He’d definitely done a number on her. She’d described him staring into her eyes until it had felt like a piece of her had been chipped away, leaving jagged edges inside of her. He’d done that a few times since finding her, like he was savoring her somehow.

Feeding, Sam thought. He was feeding on her.

“I know that, Dean. It’s not just me. Sophie told me she knows there’s something wrong with her. She can feel it. Says it’s like a chunk of her is missing and she feels a little detached from herself but can’t get back to normal. She knows and she’s been crying every day over it.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I think I know what’s wrong with her.” Opening his eyes, he sat up. “I’ve seen it too when she’s at the hospital. Not herself.”

Jo was the one feeding Jack. She had food on her t-shirt and when Jack turned his head and made a delighted noise Sam’s way, he saw more food all over Jack’s face and bib. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Tossing the covers off, he replied, “You didn’t. I’m not sleeping much these days.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Dean was eating pizza and it actually smelled good.

Sam joined them at the table, pausing to touch Jack’s back before sitting. The boy smiled at him and waved his hands. Sam reached for a slice of pizza. “Think about what Jo just said. Herself and not? Colder? Not friendly? Remember how I was? After that year?”

Understanding sparked in Dean’s eyes. “Her soul is gone?”

“If her crying is real, then I think only part of it is gone.” He took a bite. While it smelled good, of onions, garlic and spices, it had no taste, just like everything he’d tried to eat since the accident.

But it hadn’t been an accident, had it? That…thing had deliberately gone after Gwen. A deliberate attack when it couldn’t finish with them. Why hadn’t it finished with them? Had it not been strong enough yet? That was puzzling him.

“It was. It is.” Jo shrugged a shoulder, the spoon in her hand wavering as she talked. “She’s terrified and it’s real fear. I can see it. It’s not shock of what he did to her. It’s something very wrong with her.” She seemed unaware Jack was trying to reach the spoon, his mouth opening every time it got near and closing when Jo pulled back. Jack let out a screech. Jo looked at him and put the spoon in his mouth. “Guess he told me.”

“It’s probably a soul eater then. The thing that has Mick.”

Dean took a drink of beer. “You think?”

“I think it’s a good possibility. I’d been thinking either a shadow walker or soul stealer. Soul stealer seems to fit.”

“If it ate part of her soul, can she get it back?”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know and right now I don’t really care.” He should care and under normal conditions he would. With Gwen still in a coma however, he had no other focus than her. Sam knew Dean understood. He got how Gwen was combined with Jess right now in Sam’s mind and how bad this was for him. “That shock you, Jo,” he asked. “That I don’t care?”

“Your mind is on Gwen. Everything else is periphery. I’m not shocked.”

He set the mostly uneaten slice of pizza down, that slight bit of appetite failing completely. “I think I’ll take a walk.”

He saw Dean and Jo exchange a glance and then Dean was wolfing down the last of his slice. “I’ll go with you.” 

It was a transparent attempt to watch over him. They were all watching him like he was on suicide watch and Sam sighed. “Really? I can’t take a walk by myself now? What do you think I’m gonna do, Dean? What do all of you think I’m gonna do?” After a snort, he answered his own question. “You think I’m gonna head straight to the crossroads and make a deal to save her life.”

Dean met his gaze. “You telling me it hasn’t crossed your mind a few times these past days?”

“Maybe it did. But I think I’ve learned the lesson about demon deals from both our experiences with demons. I’m not stupid.” The words sounded bitter and harsher than he’d intended.

“I know you’re not, but we both tend to do stupid things when people we love might die on us.”

Sam had to concede that Dean had a good point and held up his hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. “It’s just a walk. I can’t walk at the hospital and I can’t just sit here doing nothing. I need to --”

“Work out tension through exercise.” Jo didn’t look at him, calmly cleaning up the table and Jack from the meal. “Exhaust yourself physically, so that even if your mind is still racing, your body will force you to rest.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s the only way I’ll sleep.”

Dean didn’t want to let him go alone, Sam could see it. He nodded, though. “Okay. Promise me.”

The concern there in his eyes, while welcome, was almost enough to make him break down and Sam stood, quickly reaching for his shoes. “I promise. Just a walk.”

He walked, trying not to think, his iPod up loud. The bands he listened to were ones Gwen had introduced him to: Skillet, Breaking Benjamin, and Flyleaf. He walked until he was stumbling and nearly to the point of calling Dean to pick him up, yet he pressed on and when he got back and went to bed, he finally slept.

~~~~~~~~~~

Abraham Bennett hated hospitals. He’d had the occasion to be in a few over the years and avoided them if at all possible, but this…. This he had to do, for Nic, for Aaron, and for the young woman who was his granddaughter.

When the call had come that Gwen was hurt, Nic had fallen apart. He’d had to watch her relive the call they’d gotten about Aaron and had questioned her repeatedly until she’d managed to tell him that Gwen was barely alive. He hadn’t been sure how to handle the situation. Going would be hard for them both, but it might give Nic some closure if she got to see Gwen at least once in person. It’d still be hard if Gwen died while they were there, though they would have closure they hadn’t gotten with Aaron. If they stayed home and discovered Gwen had died, Aaron’s death would come back again to Nic and might even destroy her completely.

They’d never quite recovered from Aaron’s death.

After dithering about in indecision longer than he probably should have, he’d called the hospital and discovered she was still there. An hour after the call, he’d packed Nic into the car and begun driving. They’d reached the hospital around midday and made their way to the waiting room on the floor Gwen was on. The plan was to meet Dean Winchester when he arrived and see if they could go in and see Gwen. At least that was what he told Nic. Ham had other plans.

He told her he was going for coffee, but had no intention of doing so, slipping instead down the hall and finding Gwen’s room. He wasn’t sure what he’d find when he stepped inside. 

It was a private room. Sam was asleep at her bedside, as though his presence would keep her safe. His arms were folded by her hip, his head on them. He had the look of a man who’d logged more hours than a man should in this place. The boy had determination, he had to give him that. Maybe there was more Winchester in him than Campbell. Ham thought he’d be okay with Sam in that case.

Stepping close, Ham studied the woman that was his granddaughter. Nic had framed that picture she’d brought home at the end of January, putting it on the mantel right beside a picture of Aaron as a teenager. While the resemblance Gwen had to Mia was striking, Ham could see Aaron there in her. The line of her nose, the set of her jaw.

I’m too old to try this, he thought.

It had been years since he’d used his abilities. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain they hadn’t dried up at Aaron’s death. He hadn’t been able to save Aaron, so what made him even think he could save Aaron’s child?

He was the seventh son of a seventh son, a rare thing that produced a fluke ability: he could heal people of their wounds. Some would call him a faith healer, but it wasn’t that. It was just an ability he had, a power caused by the right genetics.

Aaron would want this. Even after all they’d argued on, if Ham was in a position to save Gwen’s life, Aaron would want it. He’d want him to at least try. Ham thought he could consider this Aaron’s final request: save my child, dad.

Ham picked up her chart and read through it. When he was ready, he touched his hand to her forehead. For a long moment he felt nothing and thought maybe he’d been right and it was gone, but then he felt the tell-tale tingle in his arm, power flowing down into his fingers.

Gwen’s lips parted and she gasped, back arching a fraction, pulse picking up tempo.

The surge took all of perhaps ten seconds, yet felt like hours and when it was done, he knew for certain his ability to heal was gone for good now. He’d used it up completely.

She opened her eyes and blinked.

In seconds, this room would be filled with people and he pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed at Sam. While she was looking at the sleeping man, Ham left the room. Maybe Nic would guess what he’d done and maybe not. Maybe it’d simply be one more miracle the people here would talk about.

The world needed more miracles.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen opened her eyes. Standing by the bed was an old man. He motioned for her to be quiet, pointing at Sam.

Sam.

He was asleep, head resting on his folded arms.

How long had she been here? She felt weak, the effort of reaching out a hand to Sam tiring her. She touched his arm, then face, tracing the curve of his cheekbone. She tried to say his name and cleared her throat twice before sound would emerge. Even then it was a raspy whisper. “Sam. _Sam_.”

He stirred and opened his eyes, blinking.

“Hey there. Miss me,” she tried to say, the words barely coming out.

He was wide awake then, reaching for her as doctors and nurses rushed through the door to her room.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean walked hand in hand with Jo down the hallway, taking as long as possible to get back to the lounge waiting area for the floor Gwen was on. They’d had a late lunch in the cafeteria, making plans for the long haul while Sam remained with Gwen, dozing at her bedside. Ellen had taken Jack to the motel for a nap and would return later in the day. 

Gwen might be here awhile. It was a truth they needed to face. Little progress had been made in her recovery so he and Jo planned. What else could they do? They made a list of things they needed to drive back and get and it was decided that Jo and Ellen would be the ones to go while Dean stayed to watch Sam. Jack would go with Jo.

They stepped into the waiting area. Veronica Bennett was waiting, sitting in one chair. “Ronnie?”

She stood as he approached. “Dean.” Her glance slid to Jo. “Jo. Hello.”

“We were hoping you’d come,” Jo said, releasing Dean’s hand. She’d told Dean she thought there was a good chance Ronnie at least would come to the hospital.

“Is Ham with you?” Dean didn’t see him there. Had Ronnie come alone?

“Yes. He went in search of coffee while we waited for you. The nurse at the desk…Helena. She said you’re usually here at this time?

“Usually.” He gestured towards the hall Gwen’s room was down. “You could have gone in. Sam’s in there.”

She shook her head. “No. We weren’t ever properly introduced. Gwen and I, I mean. I couldn’t just go in there.” She gripped the handle of her purse with both hands. “A young woman named Sophie was here. She said she was a friend of yours. Very interesting girl. Kept us company for a few minutes.”

“She is interesting.”

Ronnie didn’t seem to know what to say, teeth gnawing on her lower lip in a way that was hardly elegant. She’d eaten off most of her lipstick and he realized that her clothes were still wrinkled from traveling. They must have come straight to the hospital.

Ham came through the door and joined them.

“We called the day she was admitted,” Dean said, noting that Ham wasn’t carrying a cup of coffee. Where had he been?

“Had to weigh things,” he replied.

Several hospital staff hurried down the hall. Dean didn’t think a thing of it. The first few times, they’d gotten excited, but it had never been for Gwen’s room.

“We made a mistake with Aaron and it cost us both him and knowing Gwen for over thirty years.” Ronnie threaded one arm through her purse handles and clasped her hands together. “If we all hadn’t been stubborn, maybe Ham could have done something and we could have _known_ her. I want the chance to at least meet her.”

“You may have a wait to meet her while she’s awake,” Jo informed her gently. “She hasn’t woken up since the crash. Doctors don’t seem to know quite what to do. She’s breathing on her own, so there’s no need for a tube --”

Ham’s gaze shifted, expression bearing the slightest bit of smugness before he masked it. “Doctors don’t always have the right answers.”

There was the sound of footsteps running and Sam appeared in the doorway. “Dean! She’s awake! She just opened her eyes and woke up. Doc’s are taking her in for a scan and I have to get back, but…she’s awake.”

The news stunned them all, at least it seemed that way until Dean met Ham’s gaze with his own. 

The older man half smiled. “Girl must have an angel looking out for her,” Ham mused.

In that second, Dean knew that the research he’d done into the Bennett family had born real fruit. The seventh son of a seventh son had the power to heal and Ham was the seventh son of a seventh son. Like who raised her or not, Ham had come through for his granddaughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The tests and scans took hours that Gwen hated to go through, barely keeping her impatience in check. She wanted to see Sam and the others, not spend hours more with hospital staff. When they finally wheeled her back into her room, Sam was still waiting.

“Hey.” He grinned and leaned over the bed, kissing her and hugging her before pulling his chair close. “You’re really awake.”

“I am. How long was I out?”

“It’s the end of April.”

“April? I missed Jo’s birthday!”

“But you’re awake for mine. Best present I’m getting this year.”

She smiled at that, but her smile faded as she thought about the accident. “They said it was a car crash?”

“Yeah. Pretty bad one. Your car is totaled. Not even Dean and Bobby could get it up and running again. We’ll have to get you a different one.”

“I liked that car, too.” There was a big blank spot in her memory. “I don’t remember the accident at all. I remember driving to pick up Mick, not being able to call you back, and being really annoyed by that.”

“Do you remember picking up Mick?”

Gwen thought about it, trying to break through that black spot in her memory. “No. I remember driving by myself, thinking it was so stupid to go get him when he could drive himself, but I’d promised Sophie --”

“It’s okay.” He cut her off with a shake of his head. “I’m sure it’ll come back.”

“Did I pick up Mick? Was he with me?” She saw a flare of emotion in Sam’s eyes, there and quickly gone, too fast to identify what it was. “He was, wasn’t he? Is he okay?”

He reached out and adjusted the covers even though they didn’t need adjusting. “He wasn’t with you when the paramedics got there.”

There was a lot he wasn’t saying and Gwen decided to let it go for now and go back to it when she’d recovered a bit more. “Okay.” She pointed at the carafe of water and cup. “Could you pour me some water?”

He poured her a cup and set it close on the rolling table. Sam slid his hands in his jeans pockets, shrugged, peered towards the door and back at her, shrugged again, and blurted out, “Will you marry me? As soon as I can get it set up?”

Gwen looked up at him. She didn’t have to think about it, her response without a pause. “Yes and yes.”

Sam released the breath he’d apparently been holding with a loud whoosh and grasped the rail on that side of the bed, half bending. “Yes.” 

“Are you okay? Sit down.”

“I’m fine. I….” He returned to his chair and drew out his phone. He tapped a finger on it, searching for something. “You have no idea how many times I’d thought about asking and then you were in a coma and I couldn’t.” He held out the phone. On the screen was a picture of a ring. “You like this ring? I thought you’d like it. It’s at a chain place and if you like it I think there’s one here…. I could pick it up for you….”

“I do like it.” She handed his phone back.

“Good, good. I’ll…uh, pick it up then.”

“Good.”

“It is.”

The door cracked, Dean’s voice coming through. “We’ve been waiting out here like half an hour. You two done greeting each other yet?”

“Come in, Dean,” she called.

He stepped in the room and approached the bed. “You look a sight better than you did a few hours ago.”

“I think I probably feel better, too.”

“Awesome.” He jerked his chin at Sam. “Head out so Jo or Ellen can come in. Both if you take Jack for a few minutes.”

She had a few minutes with each of them before Sam was returning and Ellen, the last one in, was leaving. 

He refilled her water and sat back down. “You up for more visitors?”

“More?” Gwen took a long drink of water. She felt a little like Sleeping Beauty waking from her long sleep. “I think everyone but Bobby has been by. He out there?”

He took her hand in his, squeezed it. “It’s not Bobby. He’ll be here later. It’s….” He licked his lips, looked at her like he wasn’t sure how to say whatever he had to say. “Dean found your grandparents, Gwen. Aaron’s folks. They’re here and they want to meet you.”

She about dropped the cup before she was able to put it on the rolling table. “Grandparents.”

“Yeah. Veronica and Abraham Bennett. Aaron’s real last name. Bennett. Carys was his grandmother’s maiden name. You were named after her, too. You share a first name.”

The information felt like more than she could handle. She blinked, shook her head, and licked her lips. “I have grandparents?”

“You do.”

“Living grandparents?”

“Yes.”

  
She swallowed hard and reached for the cup, draining it. “I’ve never had grandparents, Sam. Not that I remember. What do I say to them?” 

“How about ‘hi’? That’s always a good beginning.”

It felt like she had a hundred conflicting emotions cycling through her. What if they hated her? What if she hated them? “I don’t know. They want to meet me?”

“They drove several hours to be here and you weren’t even awake then. Ronnie’s about dying to meet you, but they’re waiting for your permission before coming in.”

She glanced at the door. “Do you like them?”

“Don’t know them that well. I’ve only met them twice and the second time was a little heated. They’re not fans of the Campbells that’s for sure.”

“So we have something besides Aaron in common already.”

“You do. Give them five minutes face to face and if you don’t like them, plead fatigue and send them on their way. Or you can talk to them awhile. Find out answers to some of those questions you have. They’re hunters too, by the way. It’s the family business.”

“Like the Campbells and the Harvelles.”

He nodded. “Just like. They knew Jo’s dad.”

So much information to digest. “Dean found out all of this?”

“Five minutes with Ronnie made him curious who she really was. One thing led to another led to her being your grandmother.”

“How long have you known? I mean, you and Dean share most information.”

“Awhile, but…” He looked away and half laughed before sighing. “Ham and I didn’t hit it off and I was reluctant to tell you about them because of him. I was afraid he’d say ugly things to you and hurt you. You’ve been through too much recently to have to deal with that.”

“You were protecting me.”

“A little.” He held up one hand, thumb and forefinger slightly apart.

“A lot,” she corrected.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.” She smiled, not really annoyed at that. His heart had been in the right place over it. “But they’re here now and you’re okay with them coming in?”

“I am. Ham apologized, which must have been really hard for him to do, but he did it for Ronnie and for you. If you can get answers, Gwen, then take them.”

She touched his cheek, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone. “Okay. I’ll meet them. Bring them in.”

Gwen sat up a little straighter upon seeing the man who came in the room. It was the man who’d been there when she’d woken. He gave a quick shake of his head and she answered with a slight nod. If he wanted that moment a secret for now, she’d oblige him until she learned why. The woman beside him came forward, tears in her eyes.

“Hello, Gwen. I’m Veronica. Ronnie.” She gestured to the man. “Ham. We’re very glad to be here to meet you.”

“Hi. You’re Aaron’s parents? I hadn’t realized you were both still alive. And Sam tells me you’re hunters, too?” Gwen held out her hand to shake theirs and the ice was broken.

~~~~~~~~~~

　

Castiel found Death in the cafeteria, drinking coffee and watching the people. He wasn’t invisible, but rather inconspicuous. Death wasn’t hiding, he was simply…there, a fact of life, noticed only when one wished to or when tragedy forced notice. Wasn’t that how it was though? 

“You let me believe she was going to die,” he said without preamble, joining Death at the table to stand beside him.

He set his cup down. “And she will…in due time.”

“Why?” His brows rose and Castiel softened his tone a bit. “Why did you let her live? What changed your mind? When I left that meeting, you had her death planned. You wanted Sam’s pain to catapult him into revenge, like with Jess. You wanted him filled with the need --”

“I let Gwen Campbell live because I can.”

He read between the lines of that statement and sank down into a chair. “She became useful somehow. What have you seen since the meeting that makes her suddenly necessary?”

“I _can_ change my mind about who is slated to die.”

“You don’t.”

His sidelong glance was sly and faintly amused. “On the contrary, Castiel, if it keeps balance and order, I’m more than happy to let someone’s loved one live, even that of a Winchester.”

“What have you seen,” he repeated.

Now Death looked at him straight on. “Does it matter? She was saved. She lives and breathes. Is that not all you need to know?”

He sucked in a breath. Those were the same words he’d said to Dean. “And you’ll use her just like you use the Winchesters.”

“We all use them, Castiel. Even you. Thus it’s been and thus it shall be. You can’t change it. Them. Humans. We all shuffle them around in the name of proper balance and order and in the name of our jobs. The sooner you remember that, the better.” From the chair beside him, he lifted a stack of papers, placing them on the table. “Here. This is all you need to know of the coming days.”

“You’re sharing information?”

Death stared at him. “It’s information commonly found if you look for it. Think about the information, Castiel, and once you’ve thought hard about those little details, come find me and tell me if you won’t aid me. I believe you’ll do whatever you can to bend yourself to my plans.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll be waiting for your call.” He walked from the cafeteria, pausing a second on the way out to touch the shoulder of a man also leaving the room.

The man collapsed, clutching his chest.

Castiel pulled the papers close and began to read. He had awhile before his quarterly review.

~~~~~~~~~~

As they waited for Sam, Ham, and Ronnie, Dean and Jo chatted with Sophie. She’d returned, but had declined to go in and see Gwen, content to know she was awake and fine.

“Thanks for staying, Sophie.” Dean swept his glance over her. The raw place on her lip had healed, as had the cut on her cheek, but her arm was another story. It wasn’t healing as well as her doctor thought it should. She really was in a bad way and not just physically. A piece of her soul had been ripped away by the creature and Dean wasn’t sure she could ever get that piece back. Her dad, Chris, was coming to work with her while she had the cast on. She’d conceded it might be best for now and made the arrangements. 

He’d briefed Chris on a video chat at the motel about her condition immediately after she’d announced he was flying in in three days, making sure to share the suspicions as to what had done that to her. Chris had been silent a long minute, one hand covering his mouth. He’d lit a cigarette, smoked it halfway down and cleared his throat before saying that he understood the situation. Dean had spent an hour talking with him, explaining the sort of behaviors Sophie could display. Chris hadn’t asked how Dean knew what to look for and promised he’d update them if he noticed any of those behaviors.

Sophie shook her head. “I couldn’t leave, not when he used me to get to you all. She’s okay then?”

It was the fifth time she’d checked. The words showed her concern, but her tone was off, displaying that disconnected feeling she’d told Jo she was having.

“She is.” Jo nodded. She was having trouble with the knowledge that part of Sophie’s soul was gone. It easily could have been her. She’d told him how she’d felt a part of her start to splinter away when Sam had come in and she’d lost consciousness. “You can go in and see her. I’m sure she’d like to see you.”

Dean put an arm around Jo. He felt very lucky that she hadn’t been hurt more than she had. “She’s awake and the damage the docs saw to her head is gone along with the worst of the other injuries.” Cuts that had been there were simply gone, as though they’d never been there at all. “She’ll have some recovery time, of course.” 

“Good. That’s good.” With her good arm, Sophie tucked her long blond hair behind her ears. “That thing in Mick…. He could have hurt her too badly to come back from.”

“What are you going to do now? You have a plan?” Jo pressed closer to Dean. He felt her hand grasp his shirt.

Sophie looked down at the floor and back up. Tears glistened in her eyes. Dean was glad to see tears, for it reinforced that she wasn’t fully gone like Sam had been. What had made Sophie the woman they’d known was still mostly there, it was just…fractured. He hoped they could find a way to get that missing piece back to her. “Hunt him down, kill it. Somehow. He called himself shadow and darkness, the thing that creeps in and steals souls. I agree with Sam, I think he’s a soul eater, but I’ll do some more research. Dad and I’ll work on it. Either it’ll kill Mick or I’ll have to. Maybe he’ll survive, I don’t know. Maybe he’s already dead and it’s just riding his body. All I know is I can’t let it keep him. One way or another, I’m going to save him.”

Sam stepped from Gwen’s room.

“Pretty tall order, Sophie.” Dean studied her. She didn’t look tough enough to swat a fly, but he knew looks were deceiving. Sophie, like all the current women in his life, had iron in her will. If she said she was going to save Mick, she would. Eventually. “If you need help --”

“Thank you, Dean. I’ll let you know.”

“You don’t have to go it alone.” Jo released Dean and stepped closer to her.

Sophie smiled, sad and sweet, yet not as sad and sweet as it should have been. Wrong. It was slightly wrong. “Old habits die hard.”

“Or you’ll just die.” Sam closed the door so Gwen, and Ham and Ronnie, wouldn’t hear them. He’d taken them in to meet her, accepting Ham’s apology for their argument at the cabin. “Don’t be stupid. Take the help. Call us when you find it, because as much as you want this thing…I want it just as bad. It almost killed my girlfriend. It’s days are numbered.” He glanced at Jo and Dean. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a couple calls to make.”

They watched him walk away. Dean waited until he rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. “That thing made a huge mistake going after Gwen.”

Jo looked up at him. “Dean?”

“If you think I’m scary when I’m mad, you haven’t seen Sam.”

An hour later, when Gwen had announced that she couldn’t stay awake any longer and needed to rest, they adjourned to the hospital lobby. Ronnie, Jo, Ellen, and Sam sat together in one group of chairs, Ronnie holding Jack and murmuring how big he was for his age. She was enjoying talking with them, relaxing more and more as the minutes passed. 

Dean stood beside Ham and said in a low voice, “Quite a coincidence, you showing up and her waking up minutes after.”

“Angel.” Ham shrugged. “What else could it be?”

“Not an angel, just her grandfather, trying to atone for not saving his son.”

“You have proof?” A small smile was on his lips.

“Seventh son of a seventh son has the power to heal people. That’s what you meant wasn’t it? When you said you could have saved him.”

He didn’t seem surprised Dean knew about it. “Old wives’ tale, boy. Not a shred of truth to it.”

“Sure.” Dean nodded. “Like how a child born with a caul has second sight isn’t true. Aaron knew about Mia, didn’t he? His sight eventually told him.”

“I think it did.” A confirmation of Dean’s suspicions. Ham could heal people and Aaron had had second sight. He wondered if there were other abilities in the family, stretching back generations. If they went back far enough, what would they find? How would Sam react to hearing stories of those abilities? “I think he was too proud to ask me for help after we’d argued so badly about the woman. He _was_ my son. No shortage of pride between us.”

“So he sought the Trickster, played with fire, and Mia anticipated him.”

“She had him so wrapped around his finger…. Made me sick to see him under her spell.” He sighed. “But I never could deny Nic her fondest wishes. I’d give my wife the world if I could. She wanted to meet Gwen. How could I not make that happen if I had the power to do it?”

“You can own up to healing Gwen, you know. Things we’ve dealt with? That power is nothing weird.”

“It’s a wives’ tale,” he insisted, that small smile remaining.

“Course it is.” He looked at Sam, glad to see him smiling and relaxed. Having Gwen wake up had improved his mood a hundredfold. Of course, having her agree to marry him had improved that even more. Sam was practically giddy.

“I think Aaron would’ve liked Sam. Seems like his kind of man. And he would’ve been proud of Gwen. Jo’s mother was telling Nic and I some stories about her. Sounds like she’s turned into a damn fine hunter.”

“Would he have raised her in the life?”

“Hell, yes,” was the quick response. “Aaron lived and loved the job. There was never another life for him. Said it was a noble calling, that saving a single life was worth the hardship and pain.”

Dean thought he would have liked to have met Aaron.

They parted company for the night and returned the next day and the next. Gwen’s recovery was being called a miracle. Dean didn’t correct anyone and Gwen suffered through more tests to confirm she was well. He spent the days mostly helping Sam with arrangements and when they were nearly ready (just waiting on Bobby’s pastor friend), he approached Ham and Ronnie, taking them out in the hall to speak with them.

“Before we all get too cozy, I should warn you that we’re death on pretty much everyone who knows us. Ask Jo, Ellen, Gwen, and Bobby.”

Ronnie and Ham exchanged a long look and laughed.

“Dear boy,” Ronnie began. “It’s the nature of our job.”

“It’s why we tend to keep our family close, run in clans. Don’t worry about us, Dean. Nic and I’ve had a long run and we discussed this. We’ll risk it. It’s our risk to take.”

“I’d like to hear more about the Bennett family. Might give all of us an understanding of parts of our families we don’t quite get yet.”

“Ronnie’ll talk your ears off.”

She elbowed Ham. “As if you wouldn’t.” Having finally met Gwen seemed to have taken much of the tension and grief from both of them.

Ham’s grin was lopsided and, between the two, he could see a family resemblance to Gwen. It was subtle, not like the blatant resemblance Gwen had had to Mia. This was a resemblance in a gesture, in an expression, in the way they all moved. “You’re the garrulous one, dear. I’m the quiet muscle that sits back and enjoys the show you put on.”

Sometimes, he wondered if he and Jo would be like this if they lived that long: comfortable and still playful after a life together of hunting. “You always been in cursed objects?”

“No.” Ham sobered. “I grew up on ghosties and beasties. My dad grew up chasing wendigos, shape shifters, and werewolves. Some do that: become experts in a certain kind of monster.”

“Yeah, I guess I knew that already. Met a guy once had a hard-on for vampires and only vampires.”

“Objects were easier after Aaron died,” Ronnie said. “They could be snatched up with a minimum of fuss and little gossip from other hunters. It took us off the main radar.”

“Allowed you breathing room?”

“Some.” Ham put his arm around Ronnie. “We still had our share of things come at us out of revenge over the years, but we made it work.”

“Togetherness.” Ronnie looked through the open door at Jo. “Your wife is a lovely woman, Dean. Reminds me a lot of me when I was that age.”

“Oh, is she an opinionated, stubborn hellcat, too,” Ham asked, his brows raising.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. That description could describe Jo on occasion. “When she’s of a mind to be. You staying?”

Ronnie shook her head. “Not this time. We’ve spoken with Gwen and she understands. Sam as well. This day is to be shared with those closest to them and Ham and I aren’t close. Not yet. I hope to be some day so…. We’ll be in touch. She has questions and we’ll answer them the best we can. Seeing grandchildren is a rare thing for hunters. We’ll be available.”

It was just one of several mentions that had been made about grandchildren and Dean was once more struck by the difference between them and Samuel in that regard. Samuel had eschewed getting to truly know his grandsons in order to get his daughter back. Ronnie and Ham however, Ronnie in particular, were leaving Aaron dead, choosing to know Gwen instead. It may have taken them awhile to make that decision, but it had been made and they weren’t going to back away now. They’d take whatever time they had left with Gwen.

Ronnie stepped forward and Dean found himself embraced in a long hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, and moved back.

“You’re welcome, Ronnie.”

They walked away and he returned to the room. Jo was helping Gwen get ready. She’d done Gwen’s hair in loose curls and tried to make her look not so much like she was getting married in a hospital gown.

“No makeup, Jo. I can hardly wash it off easily.”

“A little mascara,” she coaxed, holding out the wand.

“No.”

“Gloss? Please? Just a little. So you don’t look washed out in pictures.”

Gwen sighed. “Okay. Gloss I’ll accept.”

There was a tap on the door and Jo hurried to put the makeup away and step out in the hall. Dean glanced at the baby carrier. So far, so good. Jack was still asleep.

“How are you feeling?” He leaned against the side of the bed.

Gwen touched her hair, arranging one curl. “Weak. Ready to go home.”

“I hear you.” He looked at her, remembering the first time they’d met and how rocky those days had been. He hadn’t been sure he liked her or any of the other Campbell relatives and he certainly hadn’t trusted them. “You ever think about how far we’ve come since we all met?”

“Sometimes. I sometimes think none of it’s real.”

“It’s real.” Dean nodded. There were a few things he wanted to say before the ceremony started and he cleared his throat. “You make Sam happy, Gwen, and I never thought I’d see him happy like this. You _get_ him and that’s…it’s hard to find that, especially for us. We all appreciate what you’re bringing to this family.”

“Dean --”

He held up a hand. “We weren’t blood related but you’ve proven yourself family and now…. This is a good day.”

She smiled. “Don’t get sappy on me, Dean.”

“Hey, it’s a wedding. Sappiness is allowed.” 

The door opened, Ellen looking in. “You ready in here?” 

Dean looked over his shoulder and back at Gwen. “Looks like it’s time, Supergirl.”

Gwen nodded. “Ready.”

Bobby and his pastor friend came in first, followed by Sam, who was flanked by Jo and Ellen. Dean swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. Tradition be damned, he thought. Nothing wrong with the groom being walked down a makeshift aisle to his bride. Jo kissed Sam’s cheek and went to sit by Jack’s carrier and the window. Ellen touched Sam’s cheek and smoothed his shirt, tugging him down to whisper something in his ear that made him smile. She left him there at the bedside and went to sit by Jo.

Dean took Gwen’s hand in his.

“Who gives this woman?” Pastor Terry opened the book in his hands.

“I do.” Dean raised his free hand. 

Sam stepped forward and Dean put Gwen’s hand on Sam’s, clasping both of theirs between his.

“She’s all yours, Sammy. God help you.”

Gwen laughed. “Gee, thanks, Dean.”

“You’re a handful.” He winked at her. “I think he likes you that way.” He joined Jo, Ellen and Bobby.

In the back of Dean’s mind swirled those things Castiel had admitted and the certainty that Cas knew something more about Gwen. He had a terrible suspicion that he didn’t want to entertain the more he thought about Gwen’s accident, the creature that had been there, and Castiel’s words.

He was desperate for Dean to leave it alone. This wasn’t like his words to Gwen on her biological family. This was something truly terrible that Cas was afraid of Dean knowing. He’d heard that truth in Castiel’s voice.

All the talk of balance and order. He hated when supernatural beings talked about those things, as it usually didn’t mean anything good.

Would Cas have caused the crash or allowed it to happen just to push Sam into revenge? He’d know that would be the result of Gwen nearly dying at the hands of the creature. Sam wanted it badly for that and for the threat it meant to all of them. Dean could hardly let him go after it alone. It was a betrayal of trust and friendship if he’d engineered the accident or if he’d known ahead of time and stood by, letting Gwen get hurt. He’d know that Sam and Dean would deal with him eventually if they found that the case.

Dean didn’t want to think about it, so he put it aside for awhile and watched Sam become a married man. It was supposed to be a happy day.

Please, he thought, let us be happy for a little while longer.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now that the moment had arrived, Sam was nervous. He hadn’t been nervous when he’d made the arrangements, legal and otherwise. There’d been nothing to be nervous about, the arrangements falling into place quickly and easily. He hadn’t been nervous…until he’d walked in the room and seen Gwen waiting for him. She hadn’t let Jo do much with makeup and he was glad. He liked her without makeup, her skin bare with a touch of natural blush on her cheeks. It was the Gwen he was used to, the one he loved. 

The ceremony passed in what felt like seconds until all that was left was to seal their vows with a kiss.

He touched her face as though for the first time, careful, gentle. Sam was half afraid this was a cruel dream and if he moved too fast to kiss her it’d pop and he’d wake to find her dead.

Her lips parted and she smiled. Her hands raised, slid into his hair. “What are you waiting for,” she whispered. “Kiss your bride, Sam.”

In a single second, he envisioned a life for them with those same things he saw Dean and Jo having. The love, the trust, the family. He saw it all, good things that’d always be mingled with the bad, but that was life. It was _their_ life, the life they’d chosen, the life they’d live together. They were hunters, for better or worse.

The only curse he’d thought he’d been under had been in his own mind, the glass Gwen had once told him he was looking through his own fears. It was all in his head and he was ready to leave it behind. A scary proposition. His fears had become comfortable, they’d been with him so long…. He needed to change. He had to make the decision to do it and couldn’t be afraid of the future. Once, he’d heard Jo talking about grabbing at life and taking chances because she’d been dead and it would be a waste to throw away a second chance at life by not living it. Sam thought it was a good plan. To live life. He wanted to really live with Gwen and take whatever time they had together.

It was what these weeks at her bedside had hammered home and he hadn’t understood it until she’d returned from the edge of death. He’d forever regret the life they hadn’t lived together if they didn’t just live it. 

He slid his thumb along her lower lip. “I’m done waiting,” he told her and kissed her.

Sam Winchester kissed _his wife_.

He felt naked, exposed, and vulnerable, but like Dean had told him months earlier, he felt the shackles of the past finally dropping from him. 

He felt light. 

He wasn’t a monster. Nor was he cursed.

He had a woman who loved him and the life he’d never thought possible after Jess had died.

Sitting back, he looked over at Dean. Dean didn’t say anything, but his grin said it all. Their family of two had grown into far more than they’d both anticipated and in the end, whatever happened, they were truly blessed.

It was about damn time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel and Abigael stood just out of sight, watching the proceedings and when the ceremony was over, and Sam and Gwen were married by law, they walked from the hospital side by side.

“He refuses to believe it wasn’t us who healed her,” Abby said.

He nodded. “I know. Ham may eventually tell Gwen the truth and then he’ll know.”

“He’ll be upset with us again.”

“It seems our lot now to be at odds with them.”

Abigael took his arm in her hand, drawing him to a stop. “Sam is pissed by what happened to her, Castiel. The rage inside him is almost incomprehensible.”

“That was the intention I assume.” He’d figured out quite a lot from looking back over the pages Death had let him see. Gwen had been needed alive so as not to completely destroy Sam in grief. Losing two women he’d loved would have made Sam unable to follow Death’s own plan for him. Death needed him clear-headed and coldly rational, a state he was already sliding into. He needed him that way because….

Sam would be the one to restore the order that was tipping out of balance. It was slow so far, the creature feeling it’s way into the present times, learning about the world it had woken to, and when it was ready, it’d explode into action. Castiel had read the reports of what it had previously done when loose in the world. It was a bringer of misery and pain to any who crossed it and Sam would play the role Aaron Bennett had once played. He’d be the one who’d gather the hunters needed to trap the creature and he’d be the one who knew what to do.

At least, that was what Castiel read into the information. Death never laid everything out nice and neat. He supposed it could be Dean and not Sam, but it’d be one of the two. That he was certain of.

Only the Winchesters, Death had said.

Death had also been right about Castiel. He would assist him because of what he’d seen in the pages, though he’d despise every minute of it. Castiel had weighed the information and come to that conclusion. He’d help Death. 

He and Abigael had to stall Sam and Dean on action until the timing was right. Timing in this was everything and he almost laughed. Wasn’t it always?

A certain amount of destruction had to occur for immediate balance once the creature was caught and returned to it’s prison. A delicate process handled by Fates and angels. He supposed he’d be seeing a lot more of the Fates. They were going to have to work at odds with Sam and Dean, once more manipulating them and events, a thing he’d thought had been left behind. The necessity made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t like manipulating them. There were details Castiel didn’t know, but that was the gist of all he’d learned. An angel’s lot.

He supposed he could talk to Sam and Dean about it, yet knew all he’d get for his efforts was a big, fat ‘leave us out of this’ followed quickly by ‘heavenly plans suck’. They’d want immediate action and it couldn’t be immediate, not for balance. They’d argue that it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t, but much of human life wasn’t fair.

Castiel was getting sick of the words ‘balance and order’.

“He’ll kill us if he finds out,” she said. “We let her get hurt. We stood by and watched.”

“He will,” he agreed with a nod, “but it wasn’t you at the scene. I’m the one who was there and could have stepped in and spared them all this pain.” He could have…if he’d been suicidal. Death would have reaped him in an instant if he’d interfered. The Fates would have seen to that.

While Sam and Dean had come a long way in setting aside their ingrained fears and their lives had changed for the better, more change was coming with the winds of time.

“I thought our role would be better, that we’d protect them, that things had changed, yet we’re still party to manipulating them.” She sounded sad, yet resigned. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

For the greater good. To save the world from the creature that had been released. Timing. Things had to click into place at the right moment to work. And it did suck.

He was reminded of the challenge of friendship with humans. It required a balance itself and Castiel thought he’d learned the lesson Death had tried to impart to him by tying his hands in regards to Gwen’s death. He had to put his feelings aside and do his job whether Sam and Dean would understand it or not, whether _he_ understood it or not. He couldn’t be a friend in human terms though he wanted to be just that; couldn’t let himself feel what they felt in sometimes unfair circumstances. Balance and order must be maintained and that would require him to step in at times and act. He’d have to act even if Sam and Dean didn’t understand those actions. Even if they thought he was betraying them.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Abigael was right. The more things changed, and they had changed for the better, the more they stayed the same.

There would be Winchester wrath and Winchester retribution laid down against all who’d wronged their own.

That day was coming.

That day was soon.

“It’s how it is. We’re angels, Abigael. We’re still instruments of God and heaven and can be used as instruments of Fate and Death. We are still hammers that can be sent to fall upon humanity…or a single man to cause a chain reaction. Job was a righteous man. He didn’t deserve what fell on him, yet he was allowed to suffer.” In the end, Job had been rewarded. That story ended well. Cas hoped there’d be future rewards in store for the Winchesters and not unending pain.

He’d had his quarterly review, a rebuke couched inside words of advice. Some may be guardians, caretakers of certain humans, but they were all still angels. He’d been reminded of that fact. They weren’t sweetness and light, kittens and butterflies. They were fierce. They were righteous.

And they had a job to do. _Castiel_ had a job to do. It wasn’t going to be pretty or fun, but it was his.

“We’ll do what has been decided. We do our job, whether we like it or not. There’s still more for us, and the Winchesters, to accomplish.” He looked at her and saw in her eyes the knowledge of future events, of more things than he would be allowed to know beforehand. She knew what was going to play out. Somewhere along the way, Abigael had become his equal. She’d formed her own connections and Castiel suddenly realized that while they were allies, if he was destined to fall as these events played out, she’d let it happen if it was required. He could die in the coming months.

Even the life of an angel could be cut short if the Fates determined it had to be such.

“I’ll do my job,” she said with certainty. There was truth wrapped in the words. She’d do her job and protect her charges to her own death. She’d protect them from monsters, from humans, and, if need be, from other angels.

Winchester wrath and Winchester retribution.

Castiel hoped he and Abigael wouldn’t be among those that fell for the role they had to play in the course of doing their jobs. Would Sam and Dean understand? _Could_ they possibly understand? “Be careful, Abigael.”

“You too, Castiel.”

He watched her walk away.

God help them all.


	24. Part Two: Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for the Soul Stealer begins. Sam and Gwen take a honeymoon and Jo’s reaction to an invitation leaves Dean more than a little exasperated with her.

Sam Winchester sat in the Impala in the passenger seat and wondered why he was even arguing with Dean. In Dean’s current mood, arguing did no good whatsoever. “Brigson isn’t our monster.”

“Of course he is.”

“You just want it to be him. Wanting it and it being true are two very different things.”

“Do you blame me? He’s a wife beater.”

“True.”

“And a sadistic arrogant bastard.” Which was Dean’s latest way to describe a cop.

“Also true.”

He snorted. “He’s probably a child molester on top of it all.”

“That we can’t prove.”

“He’s a monster.”

“Agreed, but,” Sam shrugged, “he’s a human monster. Not exactly our line of work. If we were really law enforcement of any kind, then yes, but we’re not.” Dean had been muttering about Darrin Brigson since meeting Sheila Brigson on the case and seeing that she was both showing signs of a recent beating and was half her husband’s size. It got to Sam too and maybe, in the course of the job, some justice for Sheila might be meted out. Probably would if Dean had any say. He was raring to take Darrin out.

“Smug, wife-beating dick. There’s a guy who deserves a beating himself.” He made a noise of disgust. “Lowlife.”

“I’d like to see him get his as much as the next person, but why don’t we concentrate on whatever is draining people of blood?”

“Think it’s ghouls?”

They’d had that conversation two hours earlier and Sam suppressed a sigh. Dean was reaching the stage of the stakeout where he was so bored he’d rehash old conversations. “It’s not ghouls.”

“You sure? We haven’t had a ghoul hunt in a long time and you know what they say….”

He winced ahead of time for the joke that was forthcoming. “What do they say?”

“Ghouls just want to have fun.”

Sam couldn’t suppress the groan that welled up. At this hour, Dean’s jokes would keep getting worse and worse. This one, rehashed from earlier, was the tip of the iceberg.

“Heh. Funny, right?” Dean chuckled and reached for the bag of chips.

“Sure. Funny…the first time you said it. I think it’s the fifth or sixth in the past three hours.” He shifted in the seat, stretching one leg out a little. “It’s not ghouls. It’s nothing like ghouls. There’ve been no grave robberies, for one thing.”

“I can dream.” 

“We should take a look at the first victim again.” He flicked a glance at his watch. Instead of sitting here, maybe the time would be better spent going to the morgue. In fact, he’d rather be at the morgue, carefully going over the bodies for clues.

“Good luck getting that past Officer Dickweed’s buddy.”

They hadn’t hit it off with any of the officials in this town and while they could get back into the morgue during regular hours, they really didn’t need officials looking over their shoulders when they went back over the bodies. Sam wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but thought the first victim was the key. Laura Coombs had been the first victim drained according to the estimated time of death and the most recent found, but unlike the others, there hadn’t been a mark on her. “We go in tonight.”

“And quit in the middle of a vital part of our investigation?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. It was hardly vital. The stakeout they were on wasn’t exactly to watch for a monster, at least not the supernatural kind. They were just down from Darrin Brigson’s house waiting to see if any domestic dispute came to light in the wee hours of the morning. The spouse abuse they’d noted had been digging at Dean something terrible the past two days and he seemed as determined to catch Darrin in the act as he was to catch the creature. He and Darrin hadn’t hit it off to begin with, matched in height, build, and skill in fast talk, annoying each other quickly from their first meeting. The dislike was amplified by the gut feeling Dean and Sam both had that Darrin was hiding something.

“Let’s stay a couple more hours.” Dean ate a few chips, then reached out and slapped Sam on the arm. “Hey, remind me why you’re here with me again?”

Lifting the binoculars, Sam scanned the area before lowering them and answering. “We’re partners? A team?”

“No, I mean on this job,” he corrected through a mouthful of chips. “Why are you here on this job and not out on a honeymoon with Gwen?”

Not quite the topic Sam was expecting. “Well --”

“Dude, you just got married. You should be in some exotic location boinking your wife, not sitting in the car with me in some Podunk town out in BFE eating chips and drinking coffee while waiting for some creature we haven’t identified yet to do something.”

“Boinking?”

“Yeah. Horizontal mambo? Mattress --”

“I know what it means.”

“Why’d you ask, then?”

“I wasn’t asking, I was….” Pick your battles, Sam, he told himself. “Never mind. We’re not on our honeymoon because she needs to build her strength up first. She _was_ in a hospital bed for weeks.”

Dean snorted. “Are you kidding me? She was in better shape physically than ninety-five percent of the U.S. population the day she was released to go home. She was back running in the mornings within a week.”

Running, shooting, and getting her skills sharpened up again with Jo. They’d logged more than a few hours at target practice and at a weird course in the backyard the two had devised to test their physical skills such as jumping and climbing. The backyard now resembled a boot camp and Jo and Gwen ran drills for each other like they were in a military course. Sam supposed it was a good idea. Whatever kept them in shape for work and kept them occupied when they weren’t out on a job. It had been nice to see both women enjoying the challenge and teasing Dean when he’d refused to try out the course. He’d said it was too girly, to which Jo had told him to take it as fast as he could and then complain about it being girly. Maybe when they got back, Sam would take the course and join in the teasing, thus shaming Dean into trying it. 

“Maybe, but I want her fully recovered before we go.”

“It’s been over a month. She checked out with her own doctor. I think you’re safe to have a wild, week-long boink-fest somewhere.” Taking the binoculars, he lifted them and peered down the street at Darrin Brigson’s house. “Come on, you dick, do something,” he murmured.

‘Boink’ appeared to be the word of the day and as for the latter part of Dean’s conversation, Sam assumed he wasn’t referring to him, but rather to Darrin, though he supposed the words could apply. “We can’t decide where to go. Every place we look at has a lot we want to do.”

“I hear you. Remember me and Jo? Every place seemed perfect until I saw the next ad.”

Dean had had trouble deciding where to take Jo for their sixth month dating anniversary and ended up just picking Las Vegas at the last minute, where he’d spontaneously proposed to her and married her. Maybe indecision in these matters was catching?

“Too many options.”

“Take her somewhere tropical. You can get her in a bikini most of the time.” Dean laid the binoculars down and reached for his coffee, taking a long drink.

“A cruise, definitely.” Gwen had been pouring over the brochures she’d picked up at the travel agent’s office. “Maybe in July? August?”

“Check the temperatures before you go. It’d suck to get heat stroke on your honeymoon and not be able to have a boink-fest.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime.” He sighed. “So, what about the, uh,” he snapped his fingers several times, “you know, the Trickster matter? You still --”

A large hairy creature walking on two legs broke through the bushes and strolled across the street several houses away. It paused in the middle of the street, looked at them, scratched at it’s rear with a hand and continued to the other line of bushes.

Sam opened his mouth and wasn’t sure what to say, squinting, trying to make sure he was seeing what it looked like he was seeing. Without streetlights in that section, he wasn’t sure he was. His mind might be filling in details because, after all, he did have monsters on the brain at present.

Dean looked down at the coffee cup in his hand, then at Sam. “Did you put something in my coffee?” The suspicion was high in his voice.

“No.”

“Okay. So either I’m hallucinating because it’s late and I’m wired on coffee or we just saw a Yeti stroll across the street.”

Sam blinked, still trying to process the way the thing had casually scratched it’s butt. “Bigfoot doesn’t exist, Dean, but we just saw --”

“What looks like Bigfoot,” Dean finished for him. “Big, hairy…and we’re still sitting in the damn car like a couple of little girls. Damn it!” He put down his cup and then they were getting out in pursuit.

The creature wasn't moving very fast and didn't react at all to their pursuit, strolling along like it was in a daze. Dean tackled it with a flying leap, his determination to actually do something outweighing the idiocy of tackling a creature. It made a very human grunt, groan, and then shout, arms swinging. Sam didn't get in Dean's way as he tried to subdue it, realizing quickly that it wasn't a creature Dean had hold of. Those were human hands and feet and the mask that had been covering the man's face was now on the ground a few feet away. "Um…. Dean?"

"I got it, Sam! I got Bigfoot! I got -"

“A guy in an animal suit.”

Dean quit fighting, the man slipping free. “A what?”

Sam gestured, then quickly looked away. The man was naked under net fabric that left everything hanging out and visible. The ‘fur’ was mostly on the back, arms and legs, though there were patches along his chest and groin area, albeit not enough for decency.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered and got to his feet.

The man was curling up against a tree trunk, blinking fast and looking around with a bewildered expression. “Where the hell am I? How’d I get here?”

“You want to tell us what you’re doing out here at this time of night in that get-up?” Dean brought out his FBI i.d. and held it up. “You know there’s something out here killing people, right?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing out here, man! I took one of those sleep aids….”

The explanation the guy babbled wasn’t as weird as Sam thought it was going to be, which he supposed was a sign of how cynical he was getting. People were strange, some more than others, and he knew many people would do anything -- especially under the influence of that sleep aid. Sam had heard stories of people driving to work naked and not remembering it after taking that drug, so this? Didn’t surprise him really.

The man only lived a block over and they escorted him back to his house before returning to the car. Once there, Dean demanded Sam’s flask. “The dude was naked, Sam.” He took a swig. “I was wrestling with a naked dude.”

"He had the suit on." He thought of a few wrestling jokes he could make, one with Jell-O and dismissed it as too soon. Dean wouldn't even pay attention right now. Maybe in a few hours he could get a little teasing in.

Dean's expression clearly indicated that that wasn't a comfort and he took another swig from the flask. 

"You do know you're lucky it was just a guy in a suit and not some creature, right? Tackling it wasn't smart."

He ignored the question. "I've said it before and I'm gonna say it again. Monsters I get. People…."

Sam snickered. It wasn’t everyday Bigfoot turned out to be a 6’7” bodybuilder who liked to sleep in a bodysuit that was a full animal costume -- including face mask.

“An animal costume, Sam. A freakin’ animal costume.”

“Yeah.” Up close it had been…interesting, all skintight net and fur. He hoped to someday have the sight burned from his mind.

“A ‘cover me entirely in fur’ animal costume. To sleep in.”

“Well…. He probably doesn’t need covers.”

He shook his head. “I’m all for spicing up the sex life --”

“You certainly are.”

“-- but to sleep in? Alone? No hot chick dressed in the equivalent? Where’s the fun in that?”

The alone part appeared to be bothering Dean the most and Sam pictured Jo’s response if Dean ever asked her to dress up in an animal suit. She’d purse her lips, quirk a brow, and announce that he had issues then likely let herself be sweet-talked into doing it as long as Sam and Gwen and anyone else who might walk in were hundreds of miles away. She was still embarrassed over the saloon girl-sheriff incident. 

Gwen would just collapse in peals of laughter at such a request. He couldn’t wait to tell her about this. “I don’t know.”

He gave himself a shake like a dog did and picked up his coffee, which had to be cold by now. “Anyway, where were we?”

“The Trickster matter?”

“Yeah, that. You really think he was lying to her?” He didn’t say it like he was disagreeing or doubtful, merely like he was double-checking.

“I do. Saying he’d let her go just for bringing his piece of power back to him? After expending so much energy on her to begin with? He kidnapped her, Dean, and actually put some thought into his idea of justice. Skeevy rapist thought, but it was thought. And after the amount of hate she says he has for Aaron? My money is on him lying low for awhile then heading after her. Make her -- and us -- think he’s done with us before sneaking in and grabbing her. He wants her, no matter how much he may protest otherwise.”

“I don’t think he let her go either.” He took a drink of coffee, grimaced, then opened the door and poured out the cup. Once it was filled with fresh from the thermos, Dean settled back in the seat. “We need to go on the offensive with him, go after him soon before he can strike.”

“I agree. I was thinking we could take a few days when we get back, check in with Chris and Sophie, see what they’ve come up with on the Soul Stealer, give Jo and Gwen a chance to work something, and finish up the box.” They’d been working on the box for containing the Trickster’s power, using the diagrams and directions in Aaron’s journals. Sam intended to neutralize him completely, so they’d had to recalculate the dimensions to hold the estimated mass of power. Aaron’s research had indicated the box needed to be bigger the more power they took away. Sam wanted no chance he could harm Gwen in the future, though he didn’t see a point in killing him when he could just take away his powers. “Not much left on it, I don’t think. I need to double check the symbols before I etch them in the wood. It’d be nice to know what they mean individually.” 

One of the things Aaron hadn’t written down. He’d neglected to put what each symbol was on its own and Sam had been hunting down those symbols. A couple of them looked almost Enochian, though he hadn’t been able to get Cas or Abby to answer his summons in order to find out. Maybe he’d try Balthazar or Uzziel when they got back.

“Can’t always get what you want though.”

“I can try on this point.”

Dean groaned, sighed, and drank down the coffee. “Okay, let’s head for the morgue.”

The town morgue was one of the smallest they’d ever broken into, with none of the security precautions larger towns and cities had. They crept down the hall and into the main room, flipping on the light. No one would see it and they needed light to study the remains. Sam pulled Laura Coombs from the freezer and wheeled the table to the center of the room so they could work, while Dean laid out instruments with gloved hands.

“You want to --”

There was a loud cracking noise coming from the body beneath the sheet, a series of cracks that reverberated through the room. The sheet was moving.

Sam’s heart beat a bit faster and he drew his gun. “Dean?”

“Huh. You want to pull that sheet back or shall I?”

“You’re closer. You can have the honors.”

“Gee, thanks. Feelin’ the love, bro.” His hand reached out and whipped the sheet away.

The victim’s head had turned around so her face was to her back. Her arms, moving at an unnatural angle, pushed her body up, revealing a bloodless gash on the back of her neck, the stitches closing it broken and dangling. With another crack, her knees bent the wrong way and she crouched on the table. Her mouth opened in a snarl, but the only sound that emerged was from the gash on her neck, a sound like a cat’s yowl.

“Oh shit.” Dean backed up, right into the table of instruments. They clattered on the floor. “I haven’t seen one of those since it was just me and dad and you were at Stanford.”

“What is it?”

“One damn scary bitch,” was all Dean had time to say before the changed woman leaped at them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, Dean thought the old world monsters were the worst, the ones that ancient civilizations had worshipped as gods and goddesses. Bizarre creatures -- like this one. Many of them were forgotten beneath the passing of time.

Maybe they _should_ research the old monsters, make the information current and available for everyone.

He stood over the body of Laura Coombs, watching Sam sew garlic into the feeding mouth on the back of her neck. Memories of the last time he’d fought one of these came rushing forward and he suddenly realized the truth. “I think I know who our monster is,” he said once Sam finished. With the head cut off, the chair leg through her heart and garlic sewn into the feeding mouth, she was definitely not a threat anymore. She wasn’t one of the varieties that the head could grow back together with the body, so it was safe to leave her body.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“All in good time.” He led Sam out to the car and drove to Darrin Brigson’s house. “Grab a couple stakes, mallets, a machete, and some garlic from the trunk?”

When they were loaded down, he gestured at the house. “Let’s pay Mrs. Brigson a visit, shall we?”

When he answered the door, Darrin Brigson was pale and sweating, blotting his face with the long sleeve of his shirt. “What can I do for you, agents?”

The fact that they were knocking on his door at four in the morning didn’t seem to alarm him the way it would most people. He kept glancing over his shoulder, fear in his eyes. “Your wife in,” Dean asked.

“She’s…resting.”

Long sleeves in June in the south. Darrin was buttoned up tight like it was December. “Too bad. We’re interviewing her anyway.” After seeing Laura Coombs transformed less than an hour earlier, it had all come together for Dean, the marks on Sheila Brigson making perfect sense.

Darrin wasn’t beating her. He was the one being worked over. The bruises on Sheila’s neck weren’t from him strangling her, they were from her head turning around to expose the feeding mouth. The bruises on her arms were from the unnatural angle they turned to aid in the feeding.

“Push up your sleeves,” Dean ordered him. These creatures, when they returned to a spouse or loved one, liked to snack on them as a way to torment them. Real food they got from others. They derived a sadistic pleasure from tormenting loved ones by taking small amounts of blood from them.

“I don’t --”

Sam drew his gun and pointed it at him. “Now.”

With shaking hands, Darrin complied. “Please keep your voices low! Don’t wake her!” His arms were covered by leech-like wounds.

“How long,” Dean asked.

“What?”

“How long? When did she turn?”

Relief passed quickly through his gaze, his shoulders slumping. “She got back from an archeological dig about a month ago. They started in Israel and I think they were able to get to a site in Iraq for awhile. She got home and slept for a couple days. I thought it was jetlag.”

Iraq. Babylon. That settled it in his mind. “Let me guess. People started dying and wifey-poo perked right up. Seemed to thrive after each report while those bruises got worse.”

Darrin paled, his chin trembling. “I followed her one night, caught her feeding, and she…she turned on me. I can’t say no to her, man. She’s my wife.”

“She _was_ your wife.” Dean shook his head. “She’s not anymore.” He looked at Sam. “She’ll be stronger than Laura, Sam. I’ll bet that side trip to Iraq was right near the beginning of the dig and she went missing for the hibernation period. Takes two to three weeks for a victim to turn. These things usually take up to four companions, growing stronger with each real kill they make and they’re always female. A matriarchal monster line. There are no males in their ranks, so those male victims we can discount. The ones they take as companions they’ll guard and keep safe until they’re almost ready to start feeding themselves. She’s the source of the infection.”

“The other female victims?”

There’d been two female and three male. “Not infected…unless there are some missing person reports Darrin here never let see the light of day?”

The man bowed his head. “One, but she could be a runaway. Family has had trouble with her before, the sort of girl who runs off occasionally anyway. They reported her but said not to bother looking, they’re sure she’ll turn up.”

“Get us that report and a picture when we’re done here.” They’d put up an alert on the message board as a possible turning. 

“Darrin?” A woman’s guttural voice cried from the back of the house.

Sweat dripped down Darrin’s brow.

“Answer her,” Sam hissed in a voice close to a whisper.

“In the living room.”

Sam put his gun away.

Sheila Brigson was hardly the composed, well-dressed young woman they’d first met. Her long, reddish brown hair was matted with dirt and leaves, her clothes filthy. Bloodstains covered her shirt and the bruises on her neck were darker than before. “Agents.” Calculation flared in her eyes, so fast that if Dean hadn’t been watching for it, he might have missed it. “Look at what he’s done to me. He dragged me across the yard and threw me in the bushes.” As she talked, her voice became more animated and human, that of an abused woman desperate for help. “Please help me before he kills me!” She shied away from Darrin. “Please!”

Dean opened one side of his jacket, revealing the stake and mallet he was carrying as Sam did the same. “We met your pal Laura a bit ago.”

“Oh.” She dropped the victim act with a shrug. “How is Laura? Risen I take it?”

“Dead, actually. Really dead this time. Put a chair leg through her chest, cut off her head, and stuffed garlic down the feeding mouth before sewing it shut.”

She crossed her arms, her beautiful face set in a cold smirk. “I see. You’re hunters then. They warned me some of you might come sniffing around.” Her glance slid to Darrin. “Don’t go anywhere, sweetie. I’ll want a snack after dealing with these men.”

Sheila was strong, a lot stronger than Laura had been, and for a few minutes, Dean wasn’t sure they could beat her…until Darrin seemed to snap out of his hopeless state and entered the fray. With the three of them against her, they were able to wrestle her to the floor, Sheila spouting obscenities the entire time. She disparaged Darrin as a lover and husband, then changed tactics once she was firmly held down, pleading with him not to kill her.

“Please, Darrin, don’t kill me! Don’t let them do this! I love you, I do, I --”

Dean cut off her head with the machete and Darrin was sick all over the floor beside her body.

Darrin sat on the floor, watching them finish with Sheila, an emptiness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. “What do I do now?” His voice broke on the words and he sobbed.

“Develop amnesia,” Sam suggested. “Some crazy broke in and killed her, then tried to kill you. That’s all that happened.”

“Forget about monsters,” Dean told him.

“The runaway. She could be one of those things. I should --”

“Get us the information and leave it to us.” Sam stood. There was a flash of sympathy in his eyes. “Stay in your world, Darrin. Trust us. It’s better if you do, for you and whatever family you still have.”

He stared up at Sam and slowly nodded. “Sheila was my life. We were high school sweethearts.”

“The information on the runaway,” Dean prodded.

They left the house half an hour later, the file in hand. Once they were on the road, Sam would begin sending the information out and by the time they were home, Ellen would have it up for all hunters on the board to see. First, however, they swung by the motel to pack up.

“Dad called them Lilitu, but I always thought they fit the description of Ekimmu or Utukku better. They’re all three Babylonian, you know.” He was showing off a little and why not? Wasn’t often he was able to one-up Sam in the research area. A glance showed Sam was listening to him the way he did to Bobby whenever Bobby explained about some strange creature. Dean smiled to himself. “They have some weird-ass creatures running around over there. Sometimes they send a little envoy over here, try to get a new party going.”

“You and dad hunted one?”

“Try four. Those Babylonian bitches are all strange, behave in bizarre ways -- for monsters. Two mouths, six eyes, tentacles….”

“Tentacles?”

“You don’t want to know.” It was a story for another day. He cleared his throat and tapped a hand on the roof of the car. “We ready?”

“Sure.”

He continued once they were on the road. “Four beautiful women with those nasty feeding mouths came right at us. Trapped us, even. Dad was calm about it though, said, ‘Cut off the head or slam the heart, we’ll do the rest of the routine once they’re all down.’” He recalled the memory of that night. It had been a bloody, very hard battle, and when it was over, John had gripped his shoulder, squeezed it, and almost smiled as he nodded once. Dean had almost forgotten that moment of approval. “I think he was proud of me that night.”

“Considering it took us plus Darrin to take care of just one, he was probably bursting with pride, Dean.”

Maybe he had been and the idea was a pleasant thought inside him, a moment he hadn’t had in a long time. Dean vowed to make sure Jack always knew when he was proud of him. He settled back in the seat. Time for something a bit lighter in the way of conversation. “So…one or two?”

“One or two what?” Sam reached for his bottle of water.

“Weeks.”

“For what?”

“For…. Dude. Is it possible I’m thinking about your honeymoon more than you are?”

“As long as you’re not thinking about sex with Gwen.”

“Uh…no. I have my own wife to think about. You know, you’re supposed to have nothing but your honeymoon on your mind right now. You should be dreaming of wild sex. The fact that you can work without a goofy grin and trouble focusing is more than a little disturbing.” It floored him that Sam really could compartmentalize it while working when Dean would occasionally lapse into daydreams of Jo wearing nothing more than a saucy smile -- which she did very well.

Sam looked at him like he was nuts. “Gwen and I don’t need a honeymoon to have wild sex, Dean. We just need a free hour or two.”

He ignored that comment, tapping a finger on the steering wheel. “Eight to ten days. That’s how long you two need to be gone. Two weeks of nothing but romance and relaxation.”

“I can work because it’s work. Why don’t you and Jo go?”

“You promised a comatose woman a honeymoon. Deliver. Trust me. When the wife is happy, you’re happy. When she’s not happy? No one is happy. Remember that. It’s one key to a successful marriage. Keep your wife happy as much as possible.” He glanced at Sam. “Jo and I had a honeymoon already. We were actually in Las Vegas, then we got a cabin. It counts.”

“I’m sure Jo would like a second honeymoon.”

“Don’t you worry about us, Sam. If Jo and I need a few days away for sun and sex, we’ll take them.” He cleared his throat. “You and Gwen however…. You two can’t seem to take a few days alone without finding a case -- or two -- and I don’t mean of beer.” Their holidays were all busman’s holidays, searching out the very things they were taking a break from. Dean had determined that Sam and Gwen’s honeymoon needed to be completely different -- whether they thought so or not. They needed to do nothing but lie around in deck chairs and read dumb magazines or stay in their room otherwise occupied. “Checking out local legends, scaring up a case the next town over….” 

“We have fun,” Sam protested.

Not to worry. Dean and Jo had talked it over and they had a plan to make sure the two had a very unproductive trip when they finally did go. It was beautiful, brilliant and guaranteed to piss both of them off the first couple days, but after that, they were sure to see the light. Dean almost couldn’t wait for Sam and Gwen to leave so he could hear about the honeymoon on their return.


	25. Chapter 25

Sunlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, waking Gwen. She opened her eyes, yawning. The bed beside her was empty, the sheets cool. Sam had been up for awhile then.

She sighed and stretched, kicking the covers off. She was home. The base had definitely become a home in recent months, a refuge, and place to rest from the job. It was a safe place, at least as much as they could make it and she was glad they’d taken Ellen’s gift.

Gwen lay in bed listening to the sounds of the household around her. She was starting to feel like herself again, the stress of the months draining away. It was a relief to be around to hear the household noises and to be alive when she knew very well she should have died. When she’d looked over the accident report, that had been readily apparent. She should be dead right now and wasn’t. Every day seemed sweeter since she’d woken in the hospital and her natural optimism was returning full force from the vacation it had taken.

Raising her hand, she looked at the ring Sam had picked out with such sweet care. He’d admitted spending a lot of free time trying to find one that ‘looked like her’. The ring was perfect. It wasn’t a potential weapon like Jo’s engagement ring was, but it was exactly what she would have picked out herself if he’d taken her with him. He knew her that well.

Holy hell, I’m really married, Gwen thought. It felt strange, but in a good way, to be married to Sam. Different. Marriage felt different to her than being a girlfriend. It felt…grown up. Strange. She really felt like an adult now. Odd, considering her age, that it had taken getting married to feel like an adult completely. 

Frankly, she’d never thought they’d reach the marriage stage. She’d thought she’d be his girlfriend for life.

It still didn’t feel real.

She was glad to be back. The past couple weeks had been busy ones. As soon as Dean and Sam had returned, she and Jo had left on a hunt. It hadn’t been anything earth-shattering or difficult, just something light to get them back fully into the swing of things. They’d returned just last night, fresh from their success, to anxious husbands who both tried to pretend they hadn’t been worried the entire time Jo and Gwen were gone.

Jack was making happy screeches at the top of his lungs, a thing he liked to do often, and she heard Sam and Dean talking in the living room, their voices not quite loud enough for her to hear them clearly. Elsewhere in the house, water was running. The shower upstairs it sounded like. She smelled strong coffee, bacon, and something with cinnamon. Dean getting creative with pancakes maybe? He’d built up quite a pancake recipe repertoire, much to Sam’s amusement. He seemed constantly surprised that Dean could cook. Gwen wasn’t though. Any guy that enjoyed his food as much as Dean? It was inevitable in her opinion that he’d attempt to cook something tasty and Jo encouraged Dean’s culinary efforts. Probably because when he cooked, it meant she didn’t have to. So far since they’d lived here, they’d been treated to apple pancakes, banana pecan pancakes, and something with strawberries, a custard-like filling, and tons of whipped cream. 

Or were they heating up bakery rolls? Most mornings that was what they did, or simply ate toast or cereal.

Rolling over in bed, she looked at the clock. It was only seven. Why was everyone up already? What had she missed?

Gwen sat up and got out of bed, pausing in front of the dresser mirror to run a brush through her hair. Aside from a thin scar on her forehead, she hardly looked like she’d been in an accident. Her body was healed. Maybe some day her mind would catch up and allow her to remember the time after she’d picked up Mick. So far, she couldn’t remember any of it, not even the picking him up part, and Gwen wondered if that was best. Maybe she shouldn’t remember why she’d crashed to begin with.

Skirting the two trunks in the middle of the room, and noting one was open, she stepped into the living room. Jack was on a blanket on the floor, practicing his backwards crawl. His screeches had changed into a continuous ‘momomomom’ as he shuffled backwards on his hands and knees. He had to be one of the happiest babies she’d ever seen. 

Dean and Sam were on the couch, coffee cups in hand and the box of pictures from one of the trunks on the table. Pictures were fanned out across the surface of the table and on one corner was a yellow legal pad.

Sam was shaking his head. “Didn’t label anything.” Exasperation was in his voice and he laid a picture off to one side.

“Who does?” Dean glanced at her. “Morning, Gwen. Sleep okay?” 

“Slept fine.”

“Great.” His attention returned to Sam. “We take pictures for us to remember not so future generations can understand our lives better.”

She approached the couch and slid down the arm of it to sit between Sam and the arm. He adjusted his position to accommodate her, stopping the conversation long enough to kiss her good morning. “He documented everything else, Dean.”

Aaron Bennett’s failure to write who was in every picture on each one was a frustration to Sam, who’d been reading Aaron’s journals. To Gwen, it looked like he was looking for something, though any questions as to what he was trying to find received no answers. She peered over at the legal pad. It had Sam’s handwriting on it and a list of names, numbers, and question marks. She wondered if they should invite Ronnie over to go through the pictures. There was a chance Ronnie might know who some of the people were.

“So?” Dean reached into the box and brought out a few more pictures, dumping them on the table. “Not everyone is into scrap booking.”

“You a secret scrap booker, Dean?” Gwen rested her cheek against Sam’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his aftershave with an appreciative sniff. He was already showered, shaved, and dressed, ready to tackle the day and probably the mysterious project he and Dean had been working on out in the garage. Neither one would say what it was. Jo had gone in and tried to figure it out, but with the amount of wood, sawdust, and projects half-completed, she hadn’t been able to figure out what they were actively working on. It could have been anything. It didn’t really matter. They’d spill all once they were finished with it anyway. “You been hiding your scrap booking stash from us?” She snapped her fingers. “That’s what you’re working on out in the garage, isn’t it? You’re trying to get Sam hooked on your terrible secret hobby.”

His eyes twinkled with good humor. “Caught me. You know I live for it. It’s a sickness. An addiction. I need serious help. Can’t get through a day without putting a special page together because there are certain pictures that just need highlighted.” He held up a picture of a rather ugly woman with a sour grimace wearing what looked to be an entire furry animal across her shoulders. “Doesn’t this just scream special? I was thinking flower cutouts and glitter. What do you think?”

“Flowers definitely. Glitter might be overkill. How are you familiar with scrap booking and do I want to know?” She reached across Sam and took the picture from him. The woman…was it a woman?…was even uglier up close. “Ugh. She won’t win any prizes for pretty will she?”

“Give a guess how he knows. I’ll give you three and the first two don’t count,” Sam told her, snatching the picture and holding it up to her face. “I think I see a faint family resemblance in the eyes….”

She tugged the picture back and set it down on the other side of the box. “Funny, Sam. I’m going to guess the ex that shall remain unnamed from here on out.” Gwen helped herself to a drink of Sam’s coffee, then handed the cup back.

Dean took a drink of his coffee and carefully set it down away from the pictures. “You’d be right. She had a couple friends who were really into it. I suffered through a few scrap booking parties. Not my idea of fun.” He skimmed a hand across the pile of pictures and picked one up, handing it to her. “Here. I think you’ll appreciate this. Take a look.”

“What’s this?” ‘This’ was two men on motorcycles, grinning at the camera. Bill Harvelle and Aaron Bennett. They looked thoroughly disreputable and happy. Gwen realized that Jo’s grin was just like her dad’s, as was that mischievous twinkle in the eyes. “He rode a motorcycle?”

“Looks like.”

“Kind of cool.” Between tidbits like this and the emails and calls from Ronnie and Ham, Gwen was starting to feel like she’d actually known Aaron. Of course, Neal and Patty Campbell would always be the parents who’d raised her, the ones she thought of as her parents, yet it was nice to know about Aaron. She was coming to a real sort of peace about him now. “Jo looks like her dad. I mean, you can tell he’s her dad by looking at this.”

“Sure can. Show that to Jo later. She went up for her shower before we got these out.”

Sam drained his coffee cup and gestured across the room. “Jack’s backed himself into the corner again, Dean.”

Jack had mastered crawling and moved on to standing while holding on to things and walking while holding on to people and things, but his favorite past time appeared to be backing himself into a corner and crying until someone (usually Dean) came and turned him around. It wasn’t that he couldn’t turn himself around, because he could. Gwen had seen him do it. He just wanted the adult attention, or more accurately, he wanted Dean’s attention and Dean gave it every time. Right now he wasn’t crying, but he’d work himself up to it in a minute.

“Little monkey,” Dean said, affection in his eyes as he got up and turned Jack around, but instead of returning to the couch, he got on the floor with him, stretching out on his side on the blanket. “Show her the others, Sam.”

Another showed Aaron on the motorcycle with Mia standing beside him, a possessive arm around his shoulders and a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. There were people Gwen didn’t recognize with him in other pictures. “You think Bill had the motorcycle when he met Ellen?”

“I think Ellen wasn’t always the responsible mom we know today. You ever listen, I mean really, to some of the things she says about her younger days?” Dean whistled. “She was no little miss innocent.”

“We think she had a wild period,” Sam translated.

Gwen rifled through the pictures. “I know she did. We used to talk when Jo would go out to do laundry or shop. Ellen told me a lot about when she was younger. She calls it her ‘young and stupid days’. Once, she admitted she’d done a few things that’d make Jo gag in embarrassment.”

Jo appeared on the stairs, dressed and with her wet hair braided. “What would make me gag in embarrassment?”

“Some of the things Ellen did when she was younger.”

She held up a hand to stop them. “No details, please. I was already grossed out yesterday, I don’t need it early in the morning.” She crossed the room and went into the kitchen.

The previous night, they’d all gotten a good view of Ellen and Bobby kissing good night. That wouldn’t have been so bad by itself if they hadn’t noticed him copping a feel at the same time. It had turned out that Gwen and Sam hadn’t had to tell Jo about Ellen and Bobby. She’d already known.

“Gwen, do you want coffee,” Jo called.

“Please.”

Jo brought her a mug. “You get any breakfast?”

“No, I just got up.”

She kicked a bare foot against Dean’s denim-clad shin. “Dean.”

“We got distracted,” he protested, but got up and followed Jo back into the kitchen.

“It’s my fault, Jo,” Sam explained, dumping the pictures back in the box. “I brought the pictures out, got looking through them --”

“And neither you nor Dean can resist poking fun at the clothes and hairstyles of dead people.”

Gwen held up the picture of the ugly woman. “Some of it is justified, Jo.”

She squinted at the picture before making a disgusted frown. “Is that a full-on dead animal on her shoulders?”

“Minks it looks like.”

“Three of them?”

Gwen turned the picture around and looked at it. Sure enough, it wasn’t one animal, but three, the other two heads barely visible. “It was the fashion at one point, wasn’t it? For evening wraps?”

Jo shrugged. “I guess.”

Sam took the picture from her, added it back to the box and took the box back into their bedroom. 

Gwen reached for the two pictures that remained on the table and handed them to Jo. “Here. Take a look.”

Jo’s eyes widened as she studied the pictures. “Oh my God. My dad rode a motorcycle. How did I not know this?” She half smiled as she set the pictures down. “I wonder if my mom ever rode one. I can’t see her doing that…. She always told me not to date a guy that drove a motorcycle and I find out now that dad drove one? The secrets she’s been keeping….” She made a ‘tsk’-ing noise.

Gwen didn’t know the answer to that one and asked her own questions instead as she got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen to see what Dean was making. “Why are you all up this early? And why is Dean making a special breakfast? What holiday did I miss?”

“You’ve been married two months today.” Jo said it like it was a special milestone and a thing to celebrate.

“And?”

“And what? Two months is special.”

She peered into the kitchen, staying out of Dean’s way. He had a ‘kiss the cook’ apron on and was crooning off-key as he mixed something in a bowl. The apron had been a gag gift that he actually wore. “You wanted an excuse for Dean to cook.”

“It’s a special day for you and Sam,” Jo protested, kissing the cook, and stealing a handful of chocolate chips from the bowl on the counter before heading back into the living room to make sure Jack was staying out of trouble.

Sam was on the floor with him now, keeping him corralled.

She didn’t see that two months was anything special, but Jo liked to have mini-celebrations like that. She claimed it was part of the ‘staying happy with her life’ plan she’d had in effect since getting her real life back. Gwen supposed it worked for Jo.

“How are the honeymoon plans coming,” Dean asked, pouring batter onto the pan and adjusting the heat.

He _would_ have to ask. Sometimes she thought he and Jo were more interested in their honeymoon plans than she and Sam were. Gwen smelled the cinnamon even more clearly as the pancake cooked. “They’re not.”

“I thought I was bad at making plans. What’s the hold up? Most people take theirs right after the ceremony.”

She leaned against the doorframe. “This and that.”

“You do want to go on a honeymoon though, right?”

“Of course I do. I just…. We’ll get the plans made.”

He flipped the pancake. “Before you’re both seventy?”

She fully intended on getting Sam to look through some of the information she’d found, but as the day went by, it just didn’t happen and she resolved to do it tomorrow. 

As part of a concession to Jo’s insistence they celebrate two months, she and Sam agreed to go out to an expensive restaurant alone. The behavior the two were exhibiting was rather like the behavior they’d shown when Gwen and Sam had their first date. Vaguely, Gwen wondered why they were so hot to get rid of them for a few hours. She wouldn’t be surprised to find Ellen had been shanghaied into babysitting and Dean and Jo had a romantic evening of their own planned. Probably something with costumes knowing Dean. 

Jo helped Gwen pick out her clothes, which wasn’t hard, as the only remotely fancy dress she had was short, tight, and black, curled her hair for her, and suggested the jewelry set Patricia had bought. 

Gwen opened the jewelry case, smiling as the only decent piece of jewelry she had, aside from her wedding ring, came on view. She wasn’t one to wear much jewelry, just the necklace Sam had given her and occasionally a pair of earrings and a watch. The necklace was gone now, lost somewhere between the crash and her waking up in that hospital room. She missed wearing it.

Lifting the pretty necklace Patricia had bought her, she put it on, then took the entire flat section out to unclasp the earrings from it. There, below the section, was a piece of paper. On it, in Patricia Campbell’s handwriting, was much of the information Ronnie had been sending her in twice-weekly emails. The start of a genealogy. If she’d taken the jewelry when Patricia had died, she might have found the information sooner.

What might have been different in her life if she’d found Ronnie and Ham when she was still a teenager? Would she even have met Sam? Would she have met any of them? Her life, undoubtedly, would have been very different.

Gwen set the note aside, finished getting ready, and went to have dinner with her husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Humans were a nuisance.

It was a thing Balthazar firmly believed, yet kept to himself for the most part. He had a nice niche in New Heaven and admitting he wasn’t fully on board with the current administration would be death for his little corner. Castiel likely kept his real feelings in mind and he was sure Uzziel knew the truth. However, he kept it to himself, not wanting to lose his current position.

He regarded most humans as a nuisance, though there were those he occasionally liked to slip away and dally with or visit with.

Sam Winchester certainly wasn’t one of them.

Still, when Sam summoned him, he went -- more out of curiosity than anything. The Winchester clan, and they were becoming a clan now since they were _breeding_ , rarely called on anyone save Castiel and Abby. Why call on him instead of them? It was a puzzle that had his curiosity high.

Sam was quite direct upon his arrival, wasting no time on stupid pleasantries Balthazar knew he wouldn’t mean. He held out a box. “Do you know what each of these symbols means?”

“I’m fine, thank you, how are you?” Balthazar was tempted to make a snarky comment about Sam cleaning up nice, since he was in a suit and tie, but the box grabbed his attention before he could loose the words from his tongue. He took it and barely managed to hide his shock as he looked it over. Bad. This was very…bad. Most of the symbols were carved into the wood, but a few were drawn on, ready for carving. He glanced up at Sam and shook his head. “Um…sorry…no.” Castiel needed to know about this, like yesterday.

“You sure about that?” Sam’s eyes narrowed and he held out his hand for the box.

Balthazar rubbed a thumb over one particularly troubling symbol. “Why would I lie?” Who had been leaking this information and why? Did they not realize what would happen if any hunter both had this power and understood the individual pieces of it?

“You’d lie for the principle of it.” He grasped the box, wrenching it from Balthazar’s grasp. “It’s no secret you don’t really like us.”

“And yet you called me anyway, assuming I’d lie to you?”

“These symbols look Enochian.” Sam traced one symbol with the tip of a finger, the same symbol that alarmed him the most. “Can you at least confirm that they are?”

“No, I can’t.” He waved a hand in the air towards the box. “I’ve never seen any of those before. Why did you call me?”

“Because I did.” A non-answer. Sam tucked the box under his arm. “That’s all I wanted. Thanks.”

“I mean,” he crossed his arms, “why not call Cas? He lives for arcane knowledge. It’s sort of his hobby. Or Abby? She was in the library for centuries. Either one of them would be more likely than I….”

Yes, they would, wouldn’t they? And they’d both been tight-lipped about recent events, both claiming they were too busy to chat. A suspicion grew inside him that he didn’t want to contemplate, that Castiel and/or Abby were sharing information that was never supposed to be shared with humans. Such action had ended badly for the last angels that had done that and he didn’t want to see either one of them end up dead for it.

“Where did you find the symbols,” Balthazar asked.

Sam shrugged and glanced away, confirming Balthazar’s suspicions. One of those two had given him the information, yet not told him what the symbols meant. Had to be one of them. “It’s not important.”

But it was important. It was very important and he couldn’t leave that box out in the open where anyone who knew how to use the symbols could find it. He followed Sam to the house, keeping out of sight. When all was silent, and the occupants of the house had all left for the evening, he lifted the box and headed for heaven. Someone had some explaining to do.


	26. Chapter 26

With Sam and Gwen finally out of the house, and Jack with Ellen for the evening, Jo and Dean set to work with the computer. “Why haven’t they sent our order,” she asked, rechecking the date they’d ordered and other pertinent data. “It should have shipped like two weeks ago.” She couldn’t find anything on their account page that said why their order wasn’t there yet. “They charged our card. They better damn well send the order.”

Dean covered the mouthpiece of the house phone with a hand. “They did send it, but it was returned because it didn’t have the PO Box listed.”

Turning her head, she stared at him, confused. “But…last time they sent it to the house and we don’t need the PO Box to get our regular mail. The PO Box is for business. This is regular mail. We have both. It doesn’t need the freaking PO Box number because regular mail comes to the house.” They’d gotten the PO Box to deal with mail from jobs and other hunters, along with the house phone. After a lively discussion and advice from Bobby and Rufus both, they’d all agreed it was the best system.

“I know, I know.”

This was an annoying snag to their plans. It was a good thing Sam and Gwen weren’t on the ball with the honeymoon plans or Jo and Dean wouldn’t be ready for it when it happened. Their last order had been the saloon girl costume and a few other more risqué items Dean had thought they needed. This order was all risqué items and needed to be here fast in case Sam and Gwen arranged a honeymoon in the next few days for next week. Not probable at the rate they were going, but distinctly possible knowing those two. Jo knew Gwen was fully capable of throwing together a vacation in a day if they got the notion they had to leave right away.

“Who randomly decided to send it to our PO Box instead of the house address?” And why did the company have their work PO Box anyway? “Did you give them our box number or something?”

“I didn’t give it to them,” he told her, looking as puzzled as she was by that. “Personal stuff stays personal.” 

“Who did?”

“You don’t think Sam and Gwen ordered something do you? Had it sent there so we wouldn’t know?”

Jo actually considered that a minute. Would Sam and Gwen have something shipped to the PO Box just to keep Jo and Dean from knowing they’d gotten something risqué? “I don’t think they’d bother trying to hide it if they did.” Sam was the one who picked up the box mail though.

“Maybe they…yeah,” he jotted something down on a piece of paper. “Uh-huh…great. They’re gonna overnight it. Should be here tomorrow…what?…hold on a sec.” He covered the mouthpiece again. “Apparently ’Star Whores: A New Grope’ is on backorder. Do we still want it?”

He was serious. Jo scrolled through their order on the screen until she got to it. He’d really ordered it. She slid a glance towards him. “That was totally _your_ purchase, Dean. How badly do you want it?”

He blinked. “Mine. Right.” He returned to the call. “Yeah, send it when it comes in….mm-hmmm…sounds great.” Again, he covered the mouthpiece. “For the trouble and because we’re some of their best customers --”

“ _You’re_ one of the best customers,” she corrected. He’d been a customer of that company for years.

“--they’re including a free pair of edible panties. What flavor do we want?”

“You decide.”

Dean leered and winked at her. “You’re such a good woman. Cherry it is.” When he hung up, he leaned back in the chair. “Should be here tomorrow afternoon. I’ll get them out of the house with an errand then. You grab the boxes when they get here and put them in our room.”

She really didn’t think that was necessary. Sam and Gwen wouldn’t say anything about yet another box from that company showing up in the mail, or if they did say anything, it wouldn’t be more than their usual comments. Dean was insistent, however. He thought one or the both of them would figure out the plan if they saw too much. “If you keep them out long enough, I can separate the order, too.”

“How’s phase one coming?”

Jo didn’t comment on his choice of words. “I’ve saved up a few magazines.” Mostly the ones Gwen made the most fun of.

“Excellent. If everything shows up tomorrow, we’ll be ready.” He clapped his hands together once. “What’s say we go for a drive? Cruise the back roads a bit?” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

They hadn’t gone for a drive just to go for a drive in awhile and the idea sounded fun. It was a nice evening, the weather not quite as hot as it could be. “Sure. Why not?” 

A short while later, Dean parked the car and turned in the seat, his arm along the back. “So….” They were on one of the loneliest back roads in the area, the car sheltered somewhat from the road by clumps of bushes. He was apparently in a frisky mood if his expression was any indication, both devilry and anticipation in his gaze.

“So?” Jo tucked her hair behind her ear and slid a flirtatious sidelong glance his way.

“So.” Dean shrugged his brows and slid closer.

“So….” She licked her lips and had approximately five seconds before Dean’s mouth was on hers in a kiss of blistering intensity that took way Jo’s ability to think clearly.

One kiss led to two, then three, and more, and Jo was breathless when Dean pulled back a fraction and jerked his head towards the backseat. “What’s say we recline?”

Recline? Oh, he wanted to get in the backseat. “Sure.”

Dean’s enthusiasm should have been infectious. Jo should have forgotten where they were and everything else. She tried to relax in the backseat. Really she did, but she couldn’t. Jo was half afraid that every car that passed was Jodie and getting caught by Sam and Gwen last time was more than enough. She didn’t need the law catching them, too. “Dean….”

“Mmmm….” His hand worked the buckle of her belt and she covered his hand with hers.

“Let’s go home.”

“Home.” He raised up, studying her. “You want to do this,” he twirled a finger in the air, “at home?”

“Yeah. At home.”

He gave her a strange look, like he wasn’t sure where she was going with that suggestion, then his expression smoothed out and he nodded. “Okay. We’ll go home and do this.”

Half an hour later and back in the back seat of the Impala, Jo shifted position, reaching behind her back and removing a pacifier that had apparently been wedged between the seat back and cushion and loosened enough to wedge between her back and the seat. She tossed it onto the floor, making a mental note to take it into the house and sterilize it later. Or just throw it away. Depended on what it looked like and how long it had potentially been stuck between the cushion and seat back. 

Dean had taken her suggestion to mean they stay in the car in their driveway and make-out instead of how she’d really meant it: going in the house and doing it in comfort. She’d forgotten just how uncomfortable the backseat of a car could be, not to mention she felt stupid doing this in their own driveway. “Dean, I feel stupid.”

He nuzzled her neck and ran an enthusiastic hand along her side and hip. “You sure don’t look stupid,” he murmured.

“We’re not teenagers anymore,” she protested, though if she told the absolute truth, it was a little exciting making out in the car with him. Uncomfortable physically, but thrilling nonetheless.

“Mmm…” His hand slid beneath her shirt, fingers lifting her bra in a smooth, practiced motion. “We certainly aren’t. The advantages of being an adult….”

“I think we’ve passed the make out in the car phase.”

“Sure.” His breath against her ear made her shiver a little.

“Not to mention we have a perfectly good house we could be doing this in.” She touched his back, grasping his t-shirt in both hands.

“Mmm hmm….”

He kissed her and for a few long seconds, Jo lost her train of thought. “I just feel stupid because…we’re in our own driveway.”

Sighing, he raised up a fraction and looked down at her. “You’re the one got freaked out on the back road and suggested we do this at home.”

“I meant in the house, Dean.”

“I specifically asked you if you wanted to do this at home, indicated around the car, and you said yes.”

“I meant --”

“In the house.” He nodded. “Okay. We’re here now though….”

Dean increased his persuasive attentions and they were both nearly naked when lights turned in the drive and a car approached.

“Crapsticks,” Jo hissed, suddenly sure it was her mother having decided to bring Jack home early for once. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? She tried to disentangle herself from Dean and hit her head on the window in the process. Rubbing at the aching spot, she sat back on the seat and slouched down.

“Who is it,” Dean whispered, sitting up to see out the back window. “Is that Sam and Gwen? What are they doing back so early?”

Jo grabbed his arm and turned it to see his watch. “It’s after ten.”

“Huh. We’ve been back here awhile.”

She went to put her jeans on and realized it would be impossible to do without the occupants of the other car seeing her. “This is your fault,” she hissed.

“You’re the one wanted to come home.” He peered out the back window again. “Duck down, they’re getting out.”

“Please tell me it’s not Sam and Gwen,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

“It’s them, but they went in the house.”

“They didn’t see us?” Relief coursed through her like a heady rush.

“Doesn’t look like.”

She opened her eyes, pulled her jeans on, and looked at him. “Why do I let you talk me into doing these things? I’m not sixteen. I’m a grown woman. I have self-control. I used it a lot in the past.”

“Because I am just that good,” he replied with a wink, fastening his own jeans and reaching for his t-shirt. “And we’re married. You can talk me into things, too.”

He had a point. Being married to him opened up a willingness to do things she’d turned down in the past -- like the dressing up thing he continued to want to do. She put on her shirt, slid her feet into the flip-flops she’d had on and opened the car door. “All right, let’s go in.”

She led the way to the house.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam took Gwen’s hands in his, thumb rubbing across the rings on her finger, and wondered what Jo and Dean were up to. They had to be up to something. They’d both been a little too insistent that Sam and Gwen take off for a couple hours. Jo had been downright pushy to get Gwen in her fancy dress and Dean had made restaurant reservations for them.

He thought maybe he and Gwen should try and get in tune with the romantic setting, yet the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “You have any idea what they’re up to this time?”

Gwen shook her head. “Not a clue, though I suspect it’s probably a sex thing.”

“Me too. Another role play with costumes maybe.”

“No, I don’t think so. Jo would want to make sure we were hours away, not just going to be gone a couple hours. She’s a little paranoid someone will walk in. I may have contributed a little to her paranoia in that regard.” That little curl of a grin on her lips indicated she’d likely contributed a lot to that paranoia with her teasing on the subject.

He shrugged. “They could have done it in the privacy of the upstairs.” ‘It’ certainly had a couple different connotations right there.

“True. Hmm….” Her eyes narrowed. “I have no idea.”

They veered from the subject, discussing cases, then moving on into other topics and after a long dinner, they went straight back to the house. Sam was looking forward to stretching out on the couch with her and watching a movie. He turned off the car and reached for the door handle.

Gwen laid her hand on his arm. “Wait a sec.”

“What is it?”

“Look at the car.” She pointed at the Impala, a gesture under the line of the window. The windows were steamy and Sam thought he saw first Jo’s, then Dean’s face, in the back window.

“Are they…. Are they _in_ the car?” Why would they be in the car and not in the house?

“I think so.” She smiled slowly. “They’re _in_ the car.” Her grin turned naughty. “We could totally go do that ourselves.”

“Do you want to find a back road? It _has_ been awhile since we’ve done that….” He shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”

Gwen leaned over, kissed him, and looked at the Impala. “I guess not. A bed’s more comfortable anyway.” She ran a finger along his jaw.

“Let’s go in the house. Don’t even glance at them, okay?”

They walked in the house like they hadn’t noticed the steamy windows on the Impala, made a show of calling out, and when Jo and Dean came through the kitchen door a few minutes later, Sam at least managed not to smirk. Gwen on the other hand… Her smirk was enough for the two of them.

“Oh, there you are.” Gwen’s tone was amused. “We were wondering where you two went.”

“Took a walk,” Dean said, reaching in the fridge. He handed one out to Jo, took one for himself, and stood.

“Was it a _good_ walk,” Sam asked, that smirk he was trying not to loose, slipping free.

“Oh yeah.” Dean slung an arm around Jo’s shoulders while she opened her beer and took a long swig.

They all nodded and Gwen cleared her throat. “Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“Your shirt is both inside out and backwards.”

Jo’s cheeks turned a rather deep shade of red and she blinked, glanced down at herself, and took another long swig from her beer before replying, “It’s a new fashion trend.” She nodded. “Big in Milan.”

She might not even be lying about that. Jo was the one who read the fashion magazines and kept up with trends, buying all the sorts of magazines Gwen liked to mock.

Dean sniffed, looked down at Jo, and back at them. “You saw us, didn’t you?”

“We did,” Sam admitted with an apologetic glance at Jo. She wasn’t paying attention however, too busy drinking down her beer. “We weren’t going to mention it.”

“Uh-huh. Not until a proper time of reflection had gone by on how best to tease us about it.”

Gwen pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m hurt by that assumption, Dean.”

“Is it true?”

“Maybe just a teeny bit.” She held her thumb and forefinger apart about an inch.

When Jo was done drinking, she set the bottle on the counter. “Okay, it’s two embarrassing moments to zero. You two really need to even this up and do something to embarrass yourselves.”

He looked down at Gwen. “Well…you could open our bedroom door at random moments until you catch us naked or something.”

“Doesn’t quite have the embarrassment potential as my two embarrassments, Sam. Needs to be something really scorching or two half-scorching moments.”

He could see how she might think that. “When you come up with a suitable equivalent, let us know. We’ll, uh, take care of it.”

“Definitely. Can we not,” she gave Gwen a pointed stare, “make a deal out of this?”

“Sure.” Gwen shrugged. “What adult in this room hasn’t gotten caught going at it in the backseat of a car in their own driveway before?”

Sam raised a hand. “I haven’t.” Gone at it in the backseat of a car, yes. The other part, no.

That naughty gleam returned to Gwen’s eyes when she looked up at him. “Virgin,” Gwen replied. “We’ll have to take care of that.”

“When did you get caught,” Jo asked.

“Not long before Samuel showed up, actually. The guy was Terry Hanon, third date. Christian sauntered out to the car and knocked on the window, asked if we needed anything. Offered to get condoms for us. Wouldn’t go away until I threatened to shoot him. The mood was sort of killed by all that, as you can imagine.”

Sam remembered that story. It was one of the first ones Christian had told him. He’d laughed about how he’d managed to scare off a good for nothing who wasn’t right for Gwen. “Sounds like Christian.” He went into the living room, calling over his shoulder, “What were you two up to anyway? Aside from backseat gymnastics, I mean. You were awfully insistent that we leave. Research? You get a case?” At the computer, he shook the mouse. A screen appeared that looked to be some sort of account statement. He had about ten seconds to peruse the screen before Jo shut the monitor down. What he saw in that glimpse wasn’t surprising. In fact, it sort of explained the whole backseat of the car thing. Dean and Jo were ordering adult products again. He was beginning to wonder if Dean was single-handedly keeping that company in business.

“We were doing some research,” she said.

He stepped back, relinquishing the area to her. “Anything we need to know about?”

“No.” She plopped down into the chair and blocked the mouse.

He let the subject go and followed Gwen into their room. Sam wondered how long until Jo actively tried to catch them in some embarrassing position just to even the score.

~~~~~~~~~~

In heaven, Balthazar strolled the hallways, doing a steady search for Castiel in all of the places he knew Cas liked to go. He kept a lookout for Abigael as well. In one busy hallway, he stopped. Stretching out a hand, Balthazar grasped Atropos’s arm as she walked by. “Excuse me, love. Have you seen Castiel?”

She jerked away and glared at him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t really. “Have you seen him?”

Atropos pointed down the hall. “In the conference room.”

“Thank you, Atropos. You seem particularly,” he let his gaze drift down her and back up, “tense today.” Like she had two sticks up her butt instead of the usual one stick. Sometimes, normally out of boredom, he was tempted to take her on and see what it would take to make her loosen up. “Care to get a drink later?”

“With _you_?” Disbelief rang clear in her voice. He might have taken offense at her tone if he’d been human and didn’t have a thick skin to begin with.

“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “That is generally what the wording I used means.”

A suspicious, annoyed glance shot towards the conference room. “Did Lachesis put you up to this?”

Interesting. Was big sis attempting to match-make for the youngest Fate? “Not at all. Lachesis and I don’t talk much.” Though if her reputation was any indication, perhaps he should remedy that. It was rumored that she was quite the party girl after a workday. Why, she’d been flirting with Castiel for centuries. Of course, Cas remained indifferent, ignoring her attempts to get to know him better. “So, a drink?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Tomorrow then.” He could practically hear her frantic thoughts as she tried to think up an excuse not to.

“I have a very busy schedule.”

“I see. Rain check then?”

She was tempted, he could see it in her eyes, but then that stick…or two…returned. Atropos shook her head. “I don’t think so, Balthazar.” Turning, she hurried down the hall.

He watched her walk away, a new project for a future time. What _would_ it take to remove that stick? He filed her away for another day and turned his attention to the task at hand. Stepping to the conference room door, he looked inside and found only Castiel and Abigael there. Perfect. The two he wanted to talk to in the same place. He walked in, closed the door, and plunked the box on the table. “Well?” He made a flowing gesture with both hands at the box. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

They blinked, looked at him with identical expressions of confusion, and tilted their heads in that annoying fashion that was rather dog-like.

“Excuse me,” Abigael asked, barely glancing at the box. “What do I have to say for myself? You’re the one who barged in on a private conversation.”

“If it was all that private, you’d have the door closed.”

She quirked a brow at him.

It was Castiel who looked at the box and stepped closer to the table to study it. “What is this?”

“You tell me.”

He glanced up. “It looks like a power containment box. Why would you think Abigael or I had anything to do with it?”

“Are you serious?” He was frankly aghast that neither of them seemed to know why he was upset. They were either very good liars or genuinely clueless. He thought it might possibly be the latter. “Are you telling me that you have no idea what this means?”

Abigael glanced down at the box and leaned towards Castiel a fraction. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Balthazar laid a hand on the lid. “I’m talking about the symbols, darling. What else?”

“How should I know?” She shrugged.

“You worked in the library.” That reasoning made sense to him. Having never worked there, or spent much time there if he could help it, he naturally assumed all the librarians had access to all the knowledge.

“And?” Abigael crossed her arms. “Can you try for some coherence, please? I need to return to my charges sometime this century.”

Castiel stretched out a hand and nudged the box. “The point, Balthazar.” He frowned, pushed Balthazar’s hand from the box lid and picked it up, looking it over fully. “Is this the box Sam and Dean have been working on?” His glance flicked to Balthazar. “It is, isn’t it?”

“See! You knew all about it, didn’t you?”

“You stole the box from them?” He sighed. “Take it back. Put it exactly where you found it.”

“I will not. It’s dangerous. Your precious humans are playing with things they know nothing about, or at least should know nothing about. Obviously, they do know.”

“Balthazar,” there was a trace of impatience an Castiel’s voice, “what exactly are you accusing us of?”

“You gave Sam and Dean Winchester the symbols to use.”

“How did you reach _that_ conclusion?” Abigael began to look amused, as if his conclusion was absurd.

“Who else would give them the knowledge? Not I, and I certainly don’t see Uzziel doing that, unless perhaps he had a chance to meet with Ellen.”

“I’ve never given them anything I wasn’t sanctioned to.” Abigael crossed her arms. “And I find your willingness to believe I did insulting.”

“Oh, boo-hoo.”

Castiel set the box down with a thump. “The Alpha Trickster accused Gwen’s father Aaron of using one of these to take a piece of his power. He was right. Gwen found the box in one of their storage units. It was smashed in her accident, but I’m sure pictures and measurements of the pieces were taken as part of that investigation. Bobby and Dean are thorough. That’s where the information came from I’m sure.”

“And where did Aaron get it?”

“Books,” Abigael suggested, then uttered a laugh that had no amusement in it. “Now I see where your accusation of me being responsible came from. You know, just because I was a librarian, doesn’t mean I had access to everything. You’d know that if you ever went in there.”

“Touchy. I assure you, however, that these symbols were never in any human books.”

Castiel avoided his gaze, as if he knew differently and didn’t want to mention it, piquing Balthazar’s interest in the topic. Why would Cas feel the need to keep that a secret and what book could it have been in? “Not to mention neither of us was on earth when Aaron was alive.” He shook his head. “I thought you knew me, Balthazar.”

“I do. That’s why I assumed it was you. They _are_ your pets.”

“Friends,” Castiel corrected.

“Same difference.” He waved a hand in the air. “So where did this Aaron get the information?”

“He was a very smart man. A genius by their standards.”

“Not this smart.” He pointed at two symbols. “Look at these. Really look at them. They’re Enochian. They’re ancient Enochian at that. Specifically, the very first form of Enochian before it evolved with time.”

Abigael was watching him with interest. “And how would _you_ know that, Balthazar?”

He paused. What exactly should he say here? That he’d learned what he could on that front in case he either needed to cover his ass or take down another angel or creature without killing him or her? That he’d seen other angels use the knowledge on occasion? All of those were true. “It’s a hobby.”

“You have a theory on where he got them?” Castiel looked strangely uninterested. Bored even. Balthazar thought he would have been raring to get at the truth of this since he claimed not to be involved.

“Well, if it’s not you two, and it’s certainly not me or books…. Was Gwen’s father a Watcher? Or the offspring of one? It wouldn’t surprise me if they kept the knowledge alive. It was their thing after all.”

Abigael pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “They’ve been quiet for centuries. Michael thought they’d died out. He came in the library once looking for bloodline information on the last one we still had information on.”

“He wasn’t a Watcher or descendant of one. We traced the bloodline on that side of Gwen’s family back over two hundred years. There’s no evidence.” Castiel’s voice remained bored, flat.

“Did he perhaps know one? The information had to come from somewhere.”

Castiel took a few steps to the left, then stopped. “Think about the obvious answer, Balthazar. Gabriel. He was on earth all that time. He’d do it if he thought the Trickster was getting out of control in some way or had the potential to. It makes sense. The Trickster himself is the very thing he brings justice upon: arrogant, smug…. Poetic justice.”

The explanation didn’t quite seem right, but he nodded anyway. Something was definitely up with Castiel and Abigail. They were both not behaving like themselves. Balthazar again wondered why. “Look, wherever it came from, this is a disaster in the making. If Sam and Dean know the symbols, know what each means, how they work together, and have the words to complete the ritual…. It’s too much power in their hands. Don’t you see that?”

“It’s to contain the power from a Trickster, Balthazar. How is that dangerous in the way you’re suggesting?”

That neither one of them knew about the symbols continued to surprise him. “Because once they know all of that, if they know the words and symbols for other creatures, they can use it on them as well.” He raised a brow and made another point. “Or they could use it on us. You’re all for balance and order, right?”

“Of course,” Abigael said. “Along with every other being in the heavenly tiers.”

“Then this should really interest you, because if they have that knowledge, they can take down whole chunks of the monsters in a fell swoop without ever really dirtying their hands. They can make them powerless. Completely so. How would that keep balance and order?”

“They don’t know what the symbols mean or what the words mean,” Castiel assured him, but be didn’t sound so certain himself.

“Are you willing to trust that with Death hovering around lately blathering on about balance and order being kept? If I were you, I’d do a little checking and neutralize whatever threat they could be to all of us before he steps in to fix things and you know what his methods usually entail.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Castiel said with a glance at Abigael that seemed to have a bit of weight to it. “You need to return the box, however. Sam and Dean can’t realize it was taken.”

Balthazar crossed his arms and studied them with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?” Abigael tucked her hair behind her ears.

“I mean this, darling. The hushy-hushy meetings you’ve been having, the secretive looks, the cagey manner…. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. What’s going on? Why the secrecy?”

While Castiel looked like he was going to break, Abigael moved to stand beside him, slipping her arm through his. It was a suggestive pose, bringing to mind tousled sheets and stolen kisses. “What do you think is going on, Balthazar?”

He was meant to believe they had something going on, like a tawdry human sort of affair with all of the things that pose bought to mind, but from those two, he didn’t quite buy it. As he’d noted earlier, Castiel was impervious to feminine charms and aside from her initial crush on Castiel, Abigael had never seemed interested in that type of behavior. They were both obsessed with doing their jobs, so therefore, it had to be something with their jobs. Who did they work with and could he get information from them instead?

Raising one hand, he flicked a finger back and forth from her to Cas. “You two?”

“Are you so surprised? Really?” Abigael rested her cheek against Castiel’s shoulder while he did that almost embarrassed glance about the conference room he tended towards when avoiding a subject.

“I’ll take care of Sam and Dean, Balthazar. You do your own job --”

“Cas and Abby. It does have a nice ring, I suppose, but…aren’t you her superior, Cas? You naughty angel you.”

He drew away from Abigael, picked up the box and shoved it at Balthazar. “Put this back and return to your own work. There’s nothing going on.” With that proclamation, Castiel pushed past Balthazar and was gone.

Abigael followed.

Really, Castiel should know by now that saying that to Balthazar when there was obviously something going on was like setting a match to dry timber. He’d figure out everything as quickly as he could manage to. He thought for long minutes on Castiel and Abigael’s coworkers. Who had both been seen with recently? Death, of course, and…the Fates. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.

An idea formed and he smiled slowly before taking the box back down to earth as he’d been commanded to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam?”

He turned off the dremel and looked over at the stairs. “Yeah?”

Gwen appeared, waving a hand in the air. “Kicking up an awful lot of dust.”

He wasn’t, but she was fishing, trying to figure out what he was working on. He’d cut the wood in the garage and he and Dean had done most of the construction there. The inner lead lining had been trickier, but they’d figured it out. This here were finishing touches. He swiped a cloth across the wood. The designs were looking good. “I’m almost done.”

“Coming up soon?”

“Sure. Have you narrowed down where you want to go?”

She’d been pouring over cruise brochures, Bobby and Jodie’s cruise pictures, and asking both of them a ton of questions. She ought to be an expert by now. “Caribbean. Cozumel, Ocho Rios, Grand Cayman. I found a couple good deals…. It’s a little later in the season, but there are a lot of things to do, good options.”

“Great.” He kept the cloth laid on the box and smiled.

“What do you think? If you’re not wild about that, we could do a Hawaiian cruise instead. Or there are other options open, too.”

“Whatever you want. I don’t care where we go.” When she crossed her arms and pursed her lips, he realized that was the wrong thing to say. Sam decided maybe he shouldn’t take Dean’s advice to try to keep her happy all the time. All that did was piss her off.

“Okay. Shopping and couples spa treatments it is. For two whole weeks.”

“You don’t like shopping and, as far as I know, you don’t care for spa treatments either.”

Gwen shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one said we should do new things on our honeymoon and since you seem to want me to pick everything out, we can go on shopping excursions and spend all our time in the spa.”

He blinked. “Gwen….”

Her brows rose. “Yes, Sam?” Her reply was sugary sweet.

He heaved a long sigh. “I’ll be up in five minutes to look at the list of excursions with you.”

“Thank you. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Why have you been dragging your feet on this? You’re the one suggested a cruise and you’re making me plan it alone. Honeymoons are for husband _and_ wife last I checked.”

“Dean said a good marriage is keeping the wife happy,” he admitted. “I want whatever will make you happy.”

“Ahh.” She crossed her arms, tongue pushing out her cheek for a second. “Dean’s words of wisdom.” Nodding like it explained everything, she added, “Our marriage isn’t going to be like Jo and Dean’s, you know. None of our relationship has been like theirs. They each plan things by themselves and boss the other into doing it and love every second of it. Us though…. I want us to plan things together, like we already do, not to mention, we won’t always be happy with each other. You know that. It’s unreal to try otherwise.”

He did know that. Jo and Dean did things their way (often impulsive) and he and Gwen were different. “I know, but, uh, if you really want to shop and go to the spa…I’ll do it.”

“Noted. I’ll pass on shopping since I’ve heard it’s a lot of jewelry anyway and since you give professional level massages, I doubt I’ll need the spa.”

“Give me a few minutes to clean up and I’ll be up.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

The basement door closed behind her and Sam opened the notebook he’d used to build the box. It had specific measurements, a particular wood, and diagrams of the symbols and the placement on the box. Sam and Dean were going Trickster hunting. While the bit of magic had saved Gwen in that car, there was still the matter of him threatening her and Sam wasn’t going to let that slip by without discussion.

Aaron’s journals were a fascinating read. Sam looked forward to finishing them. They were the very sort of information they’d been looking for, the sort their dad had kept only more detailed. In them were bits of esoteric lore on creatures Sam had never heard of before. A treasure trove. If their dad’s journals had been regular college level stuff for them, then Aaron’s were advanced, PHD level.

He’d skimmed until he’d found the passages on the Trickster and memorized what he’d learned before handing the book over to Dean to also memorize. They knew the incapacitating spell Aaron had created and used, what part of it connected to what part of the creature, and what pieces could be left out if he wished to converse with him -- which he did. There was quite a bit of discussion Sam wanted to have with the Trickster.

What they didn’t know was what the symbols on the box meant. The spell was clear, the box wasn’t. Sam thought it was dangerous information to use and not know what it was, yet Aaron had used that combination successfully. It should work, right? He still thought Balthazar could have told him what they meant. Why hadn’t he? Sam wondered on that. He’d noticed that sliver of alarm that crossed the angel’s face in a split second. If it was really dangerous though, wouldn’t he have stolen the box or something? That seemed like Balthazar’s way of doing things. Instead, it had remained where Sam had put it.

Gwen’s biological father had had a brilliant mind. He’d looked at things in ways Sam had never thought to. Reading and studying his writings was like apprenticing with the Stephen Hawking of hunting. Sam almost wished Aaron was alive and could teach them all some of those things he’d worked out in person.

Finished cleaning the area, he headed upstairs. Gwen had printed out a list of excursions for each of the stops on the cruise she was interested in and they worked through the list, checking things they might want to do so they’d have a prepared list of options when they saw the travel agent.

~~~~~~~~~~

They knew. They had to know. Dean had already been suspicious at the hospital and it had been a couple months. Definitely long enough for Dean to begin putting things together if he had enough of the pieces. Did he have enough of the pieces?

Castiel headed to earth and what he assumed was his fate. He materialized in the garage on Dean and Sam’s property, finding the two waiting, standing side by side.

Dean began talking immediately. “Cas, great, you’re here.”

That didn’t sound like they were about to kill him. He glanced about the garage and didn’t see anyone but them, no other individuals or beings. “I am.”

“Take a look.” Dean held out the box.

He supposed he should be thankful Balthazar had followed orders. “It’s a box.”

Sam was staring at him, hands in his jeans pockets. It looked like a casual pose, except the tension that was riding along his shoulders.

“It’s a Trickster box,” Dean corrected. “Remember? The box we were looking for? The sliver of power Aaron took from him?”

Castiel nodded. How _could_ he forget? “I do.” He was careful to refrain from elaborating on exactly what he knew. “What about it?”

“Here’s the thing….” Dean used a finger to gesture between himself and Sam. “We need your help.”

Those words, from Dean’s mouth, were generally guaranteed to get him in trouble somehow. Usually bad trouble. Still, the plan he outlined wasn’t nearly as half-assed as some of his past plans. It did have some alarming elements, such as trusting a spell Aaron Bennett had created while not entirely certain it’d work. The man could easily have made modifications to it as he’d used it.

“It’s a bad idea,” he interjected. “You don’t want to piss off a Trickster any more than you’d want to piss off an archangel.”

Dean’s shrug was nonchalant. “Been there, done that. Sam’s got the t-shirt.”

“Couple of them.” Sam took a step forward. “Are you in, Cas?”

The two _did_ go where others, including angels, feared to tread on a regular basis. They’d do everything from pissing off archangels, demigods, and demons, to poking bears with sticks. He sighed. “Are you going to enact this plan even if I don’t participate?” He didn’t really need to ask that, did he? Of course they were going to go ahead with the plan.

“Hells, yeah.” Dean nodded. “You’d just give us the element of surprise.”

“It’d be a real help of you’d join us, Cas. Like old times.”

Sometimes old times weren’t the ones one wanted to go back to. Not in this context anyway. “I still believe this is a bad idea. If the spell doesn’t work as intended --”

“It’ll work.” Sam sounded certain, smug even and Castiel suddenly felt that same alarm he’d noted in Balthazar. Sam was learning from Aaron Bennett’s journals and he was understanding the things he’d learned. Perhaps Castiel should take a closer look at those journals.

“How do you know?”

“I trust the source.”

A source he’d never met or spoken to. All he had as a character reference were the man’s parents (not the most objective character witnesses) and the knowledge of the lengths Aaron had gone to save his daughter. He didn’t know Aaron Bennett, yet he was willing to use his work, treading into dangerous territory. Castiel nodded. “I’m in.”

Maybe if he was there, he could minimize any damage that occurred.


	27. Chapter 27

With Castiel’s assistance, they spent two days tracking the Trickster throughout Las Vegas. He never strayed very far from the hotel where he’d first taken notice of Dean and Jo, spending his time mostly at the pool, or in restaurants, constantly surrounded by pretty women. Sam wondered if they were real or of his own making. It could be either or both.

Even with Castiel’s help, however, they had to be careful. Occasionally, the Trickster would look up and around like he’d sensed something. He’d turn in a slow circle, studying wherever they all were with a gaze that Sam suspected missed very little. After that, he’d be uneasy for awhile, then slowly slip back into the partying mode he looked to be in. Once, they stood by and watched him mete out some justice to a well-deserving man in one casino.

“This is a --”

“Bad idea,” he and Dean both finished for Castiel, whose gaze was slightly defiant. He’d been saying variations of that phrase for the past two days.

“Well, it is,” he insisted, looking very much like he was sulking because they weren‘t heeding his words and leaving this alone. “I just don’t understand why you’re so certain it’ll work.”

“Because it obviously worked for Aaron.” Sam hefted his bag onto his other shoulder and kept his attention on the Trickster. He was at the pool, staying while others took their leave of the area.

“He may have changed the words.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Dean crossed his arms and shifted position against the planter he was half sitting on. “Relax, Cas. This’ll be just a nice chat with a dangerous monster. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Nice chats don’t include ways to strip the creature’s power from him.”

Dean waved a hand like it didn’t make any difference.

“I have to do this. He threatened my wife. It’s personal.” Sam glanced at Cas. “You can understand that at least, right?”

Castiel slid his hands into his pockets and gave a slow nod, though Sam saw the hurt in his eyes and his voice betrayed that emotion. “Of course I understand why you wish to deal with him. He’s a threat.”

“And one I’d like to have taken care of before Gwen and I leave. I don’t want to have to come back and do this. I want it over with. We’ve got enough to worry about with the Soul Stealer without wondering if the Trickster is going to come after Gwen again. Let’s just do this and go home so I can go on my honeymoon without worrying about him popping in.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be dealt with, Sam, only that this idea isn’t the best as plans go.”

“You have a better idea,” Dean asked, brows raised with the question.

“No.” The admittance was said with a troubled frown and Castiel turned his attention back to the pool.

They watched the Trickster at the pool, chatting with one hotel staff member, and then it was only them and him. The area was deserted otherwise. He came down the path towards them, walking with a slow sauntering stride.

Sam said the words he’d learned and waited. He wasn’t sure what to expect. There wasn’t a description in the journal. The effect of the words was instantaneous. A soft golden sheen surrounded the Trickster, like thick ropes about him. He tried to move, struggling to do so and loosing several inventive curses when he realized he was trapped.

“I’ll be damned,” Dean whispered, smacking Sam on the arm with one hand. “It worked.”

He and Dean stepped from their places in the shadows. Castiel remained where he was.

“How do you trick a Trickster, Sam?” Dean crossed his arms and grinned.

“Patience,” he replied. “And an angel masking our presence.”

Castiel, as reluctant as he’d ever been to assist them on something, came forward. “This is a bad idea,” he said a final time. When they’d called him, he’d seemed more nervous than normal, almost like he’d been when the Civil war was playing out. He’d cautioned them against this action, yet agreed in the end to aid them and be there in case something went wrong. He’d seemed certain something would go wrong. Maybe it still would. Sam was willing to take that chance.

“I agree,” the Trickster said, anger simmering in his eyes. “A very bad idea. Sam and Dean Winchester and their little lap angel. Why am I not surprised? How the hell are you?” He looked down at himself, immobile by the now invisible bonds, and looked back up. “Not very hospitable of you to bind me. Care to explain?”

“Take us somewhere private, Cas.” Dean’s request brought an instant result and they were all in the empty penthouse before he’d finished speaking. “Give us a few minutes?”

With a sigh and nod, Castiel disappeared from view. Sometimes Sam wondered if he really left, or if he would stay right there out of sight.

The Trickster frowned as though aware of what they had planned. “Think before you two do something hasty. Really think about it.”

Sam set his bag on the table and opened it, drawing out a stake tipped with blood and the box he and Dean had built. It was an exact replica of the one that had been smashed, larger and sturdy. Sam had polished the wood and the ornate symbols gleamed under the light. The calculations of size were Aaron’s and Sam bet it was an accurate container.

The Trickster’s glance slid to the box and back to them. “Now that’s no way to win friends. Have you thought at all about what you’re planning to do here? I could be a good ally if you play your cards right.”

“Now that’s funny coming from a creature that threatened one of our own.” Dean hefted the stake.

“I’ve thought a lot these past months,” Sam admitted, “mostly about how all of you uglies consistently underestimate me and my brother.”

“You do.” Dean circled the bound Trickster. “Lot of underestimation going on. If you look at the trend, it’s constant and consistent.”

“You call us stupid and bumbling, but who’s got who trapped right now?”

“You cheated,” he spat, twisting once more against invisible bonds. “You used an angel. That’s hardly fair.”

“Right. We cheated. Because none of you ever cheat.” Dean stopped in front of him, staring at him. “You’re blameless.”

“Okay, maybe I have cheated. But I never once underestimated either of you.” His gaze darted back and forth between them, finally stopping on Sam. “Remember Sam? I anticipated a future dance at the ball. I listened to every story Gabriel ever told me about you.”

How many stories had Gabriel told and how long did Gabriel watch them? Sam opened the lid of the box. “What would happen if I took all of your powers and put them in this box? Any idea? Would you become an immortal, powerless, almost human creature, unrecognizable to his own children?”

A sliver of fear in his eyes. It was real fear, too, not an act. “You wouldn’t.”

“Look at my face and tell me what I wouldn’t do.” Sam was very serious. He was actually contemplating that action instead of killing the creature.

He studied Sam, then Dean, and Sam again. All snark and attitude was gone. He was solemn now. “What do you want?”

“Information first and don’t worry. We’re aware of the shelf-life on Aaron’s spell. He was very specific.”

“If I don’t comply?”

Sam shrugged. “We siphon your powers a little at a time into the box until you do.”

He licked his lips. “That’s torture. You understand that, right?”

They’d discussed that very idea on the way here. Could that plan be construed as torture and did they particularly care if it was.

“Think of it as incentive,” Dean told him, setting the stake down with an encouraging smile.

Sam stared at him. “Isn’t that what you told Gwen? Incentive?”

He laughed, a nervous sound. “Jesus, Sam, it’s about the _woman_? You can have her. I promised I’d leave you lot alone if I ever got my power back and lo and behold it came sliding back to me a couple or three months ago. You’re out of my sights --”

“I know a blatant lie when I hear one. You’re not done with her or us. You were planning on waiting awhile, then coming for her anyway.” 

His lips parted, surprise flashing across his face. “Okay, maybe I was.”

“You don’t want to test me, Trickster.” Sam took up the stake. “I could kill you.”

“I haven’t killed anyone, not recently anyway. No blood.” Was that sweat on his brow? “You’re out of luck and when this spell expires --”

“About that…. I’ve been doing some intensive reading, going back over the stories, and you know…nothing ever says the victim has to be dead.”

Gwen had let them take some blood for the stake and known right then what they were going to go do. She’d cautioned them to be careful, to not get them any deeper in with him. While he understood her wanting to walk away, he wasn’t willing to until he knew the problem was fixed for good and that meant…this. He wanted an end, one way or another. If that meant he siphoned the powers and left him human, then so be it. If it meant he killed him, then he could live with that, too.

“Everyone’s assumed of course.” Dean leaned against the table. “Hell, we’ve done it ourselves.”

A hit. They’d scored a direct hit. The fear in his eyes grew. “Fine. You’re right. That what you want to hear? Ask.”

“What happens to your powers when you die? Do they dissipate?”

“They’ll spread out evenly among my descendants, give them a boost.” His glance slid to the box. “At least that’s what Gabriel thought. He studied the matter, thought if he was playing at being me he should know that.”

“A boost…unless they’re siphoned off first.” Sam had considered the idea of the powers passing to descendants earlier, wondered if that would happen. It wasn’t a good thing in his opinion. They didn’t need powered up Tricksters running around. “Interesting. What exactly are the reaches of your power?”

“What is this, the getting to know you Q and A? Don’t you already know this crap, boys?”

“Humor us,” Dean told him. “You and Gabriel blend together for us a little. Don’t you want to be remembered as yourself and not because of the archangel?”

“You’ve seen what I can do. I make fake realities out of reality, twist things out of natural order. I can snap my fingers and shove an angel into a fake reality long enough to get things done. I can turn into a bird, or a wolf, or a couple other really neat creatures, and I can disappear in a blink if I need to get away faster than shape shifting to do so. I am a force to be reckoned with --” He renewed his struggles.

Sam cleared his throat and held up a finger. “Not so fast.” He repeated the words that bound the Trickster, then made a flourish with that finger. “Continue. A force to be reckoned with?”

“You’re an insolent pup,” he spat, red spots of angry color darkening his cheeks.

“Who has you trapped. Now….”

“On to the serious matter.” Dean closed the lid of the box. It didn’t need to be standing open to siphon the powers. It was the words that did that. “You’ve been around a long time, right?”

“Give the man a gold star.”

“There’s a creature got loose recently. Possibly a Soul Stealer. We think some Campbells trapped it once. You know anything about it?”

At the mention of the Soul Stealer, the Trickster’s face paled, those red spots fading.

“I stay away from those things.” That was sweat on his brow, now beginning to drip down his face.

“All of them or just this one?”

He licked his lips. “All of them. All those things are dangerous.”

“You’re scared of it.” Sam was actually surprised about that. The Soul Stealer was big enough to frighten a real Trickster.

“What? You’re surprised there are things I’m afraid of?”

“There’s always a bigger fish,” Dean replied. “Go on.”

“If it’s a Soul Stealer that got loose, then we’re all in the same boat. Neither heaven, hell, or purgatory wants those things. It got bound a long time ago to keep the earth from being ripped up.”

“Who bound it?”

“Hunters.”

“Care to be more specific?” Sam circled him now, assessing him. Even bound there was a sense of power about him.

“Would if I could. More than one I know.”

“How did they get the knowledge to bind it?”

“Hell if I know. All I know is it happened. It was going on it’s merry way, drinking down every soul it could, monster and human, like it was at some damn buffet table and then it was gone.” He shook his head. “It feeds on everything. Human, monster. It doesn’t care where it gets it’s food. To it, a soul is a soul, but the sweetest ones are from the bloodlines that bound it. It eats the soul, then starts in on the physical body.”

“You ever met one?”

“No, but a couple of my oldest children did. I had to kill them both to keep them from…” He looked down at the ground, what looked very much like grief on his face. “He hadn’t gotten to chowing down on their bodies yet, but he’d pretty much finished with their souls. They were different, changed.” He sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. “You think us all cruel, evil, but we’re not. We have our role in this world, just like you. Not all of us kill or hurt and that goes for other types of monsters, too.” He looked up. “One father to another Dean? Pray you never have to kill your child because he’s turning into something that redefines what pure evil really is. That’s a pain that never goes away.”

Sam exchanged a long glance with Dean and filed that information away. He hadn’t thought of that before. If the Soul Stealer got organized, he could take the souls of monsters and transform them into things even worse than they already were by the loss of the soul. He could make an army. Sam tried to imagine an army of monsters in the same position he’d been in and quickly shoved that thought aside. “Can a soul be retrieved from it?”

The Trickster laughed. “Would _you_ want something partially digested crammed back into you? Kinder to kill the person or monster. Don’t underestimate it. If it gets into it’s host’s mind…. It’ll know everything that host knows.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s all I know, I swear.” An air of defeat had settled over him. The spell apparently kept him from working his own magic at all. “Have I earned enough good Trickster points to go free now?”

“No.” Sam reached for the stake.

“Not so fast.” Dean held up a hand. “Let’s think about this.”

“Think about it,” the Trickster said. “Take a minute, Sam. Surely we have another minute.”

“Let’s list everything he’s done to us all. See how it weighs out.”

“Okay.” Sam crossed his arms. “You messed with Jo and Dean in Las Vegas.”

“I pointed out a few areas they needed to work on. I just did what any good counselor would have done.”

“You crashed the baby shower, went in our base uninvited and rifled through Gwen’s things, grabbed her by the throat….” He drew in a long breath and continued. “Then you apparently stalked her until you had her and Jo alone --”

“I kept Jo from falling through the floor onto those rusty traps.”

“One point in your favor,” Dean said with an affable nod. “Thanks. I like my wife alive.”

“Not enough. You kidnapped Gwen, terrorized her, tried to seduce her, impersonated me --”

“Hey, I impersonated all of you. Get it right, Sambo.”

“Let’s add that to the list of charges.”

Dean circled the Trickster. “We should also consider that when Gwen had that accident, the original box was smashed, releasing his bit of power and saving her from dying.”

“Yeah!” The Trickster blinked. “Wait, what? She almost died? What happened?” Concern replaced his fear. “Is she okay?”

Sam looked at Dean. This wasn’t just a show for the Trickster’s benefit. They really were weighing it all. “That’s a big thing in his favor. What do you think?” His first instinct was to kill him no matter what, but that indirect saving of Gwen’s life was worth something. He was grateful the power had been in that box and that it had smashed.

“I think he’s earned it.”

He nodded. “He’s earned something anyway.” Sam said the second set of words he’d memorized, the power flowing into the box.

The Trickster screamed, head thrown back, and slumped to the floor as the spell holding him dissipated. It was created to hold a powerful being, not a powerless one. He stayed on his hands and knees for a moment, then slowly sat and looked up at them. “Wait, you’re not going to kill me?” The words were surprised, terrified even. Panic flickered in his eyes.

With a shrug, Sam told him, “I can be merciful. We both can. We’ve no interest in taking your life, only making sure you can’t find Gwen and can’t hurt people again. If you hadn’t indirectly managed to save Gwen’s life, I would’ve taken yours, but you did. It earned you life.”

“But not powers.” Dean packed up the box and the stake and shouldered the bag.

“Dicks,” he spat. “You can’t leave me like this! I’m helpless!”

“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” Sam said in a dry tone and called for Castiel to take them from the hotel.

Hours later, Sam sat on the side of the bed by Gwen. Reaching out a hand, he gently shook her to wake her. She woke with a gasp and raised up on her elbows.

“Sam? You’re back?” She sat up and snapped on the light.

“We are.”

“And?”

“It’s taken care of.”

“You killed him?”

He knew he should tell her what he and Dean had done, but to admit they’d actually left the creature alive might still worry her. “He won’t bother us again.” It wasn’t a denial or an affirmation and he could see her trying to figure out which way to take it.

After a long moment, she nodded. “Okay. You coming to bed?”

“I’ll be in in a few. I’m gonna have a beer with Dean first.” Back in the living room, he accepted the beer Dean handed him and looked at Castiel. “Take good care of it for me, Cas.”

Castiel held the box in his hands, thumbs circling two of the symbols. He nodded. “Of course. Nothing will happen to it where I take it.” He disappeared.

Dean clinked his beer bottle to Sam’s. “Cheers. We do the right thing today?”

“About draining his powers?”

“About letting him live. Everything in me was screaming to kill him, you know.” He sat down on the couch. “Feels wrong to let him live.”

“Felt wrong to kill him, wrong to let him live…. Feels wrong either way. He’s still a monster.”

“A neutered one.”

Honestly though? At the end of the day? Sam was okay with letting him live without his powers. What could he do to them? Nothing. He was nothing to them now, the resources his powers had afforded him gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks passed in a blur. To Jo, it seemed like the older she was, the faster time passed. She watched Sam and Gwen buckle down with their honeymoon plans and put together a cruise they insisted was going to be wonderful despite being right in the height of hurricane season. She and Dean helped them pack, did some switching around when the two went to say goodbye to Ellen, and saw them off at the airport. They’d be back in time for Jack’s first birthday.

Jo looked up from her own bag. “Are you sure, Dean?” 

“Go. You and Ellen have a great time.”

What did one pack to go to a spa anyway? It had never come up before. “Are you sure,” she repeated.

“More than sure.” He laid Jack on the bed and sat down beside him. “We’re gonna hang around here, watch some Sesame Street, eat, take a few long naps, and have some real dad-son time.”

Jo narrowed her eyes at him, a tiny bit suspicious as to why he was so gung-ho. “Okay, what’s the case you’ve found?”

“No case. I just don’t get enough time with Jack. Besides, it’ll give you more of a break and I’m sure ‘spa week’ is Ellen code for ‘job you’ll love’.

Honestly, it was ten days at a spa. Why didn’t anyone believe them? Even Gwen had been skeptical. It was a spa, really. A grateful client had given Ellen a top package as payment for getting rid of a vengeful ghost. Jo had seen the vouchers. They looked real to her.

“Go,” he repeated. “Have fun chasing down whatever Ellen’s found for you two. It’s been awhile since you went out on a hunt together. I bet she misses it.”

“It’s not a hunt. She’d say it outright if it was.”

“Uh-huh.”

She closed her bag and zipped it shut. “So if it really is a job she has….” She studied him. He hadn’t balked about her and Gwen taking cases and Jo wondered if he was still panic attack free. Surely he would have said something if he’d had another one? Then again, this was Dean Winchester. Shove it down and ignore it was still his favorite coping method. “Are you okay with me working one?”

Dean stretched out on their bed. Jack grabbed a fistful of his shirt and used it to sit up, wobbling a little, the pacifier in his mouth wiggling. Dean steadied him with a hand. “I think so.”

“No more attacks?”

“None.”

“Weird.” In her opinion, that meant he could be due for another one any time now and not necessarily over anything panic-worthy. She came around the bed. “You’ve had none at all, not even any little ones, since that first one? No twinges?”

He shrugged. “None. Not even a whiff of one.”

He didn’t look like he was lying either. “That’s bad.”

“I thought it’d be a good thing. Means I’m okay with it.” He grinned at her and put one arm under the pillow beneath his head.

She shook her head and sat beside him. “Not necessarily. As bad a reaction as you had then and you’re just fine about it?”

“We’ve had a lot happen since then. If I was going to panic again, I would’ve. I don’t think it’s an issue anymore.”

Leaning over, she touched his face with a hand, cupping his jaw and rubbing her thumb along the stubble there. “Sweetheart, you once sold your soul to save Sam from death. Those sort of issues don’t just fade away on their own.”

He grasped her hand in his, pressed a kiss to her fingers, and brought her hand to his chest. “Jo, I’m fine. You and Gwen have gone out a couple times and while I’ve been worried, it hasn’t been crippling. It’s okay now. I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“Dean.”

“I said I’m fine. I think it was a one-off anyway.”

She blinked. One-off? Did he really think that? She loosed her hand from his. “No.” Standing, she picked up Jack. He squirmed in her arms, leaning in the direction of the bed, wanting back down.

“Sure it was.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Go with Ellen and have fun.” He stood up and grabbed her bag. “Shoot something nasty.”

Jo closed one of the front pockets on the bag with her free hand. “You are so not okay with it.”

“I dealt with it. It’s done.”

From outside came the sound of a horn. Jack spit the pacifier out and began babbling nonsensical noises.

“Sure.” She nodded. “Okay. Sounds like mom’s here. You and Jack have a good week.”

“We’re having an excellent week.” He hefted her bag. “You say goodbye to him and I’ll take this out to Ellen.”

Jo changed Jack and as she straightened his shirt, she whispered, “Take care of daddy this week, okay? Keep him out of trouble?” He grinned and blew a spit bubble at her. With a laugh, she picked him up and carried him downstairs and outside. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Not for a single minute did Dean believe Ellen and Jo were going to a spa. The reason? Because Ellen was too cheerful and insistent about it. She definitely had something else planned, but he was fine. Jo and Ellen had been each other’s back-up for a long time. He trusted Ellen to keep Jo safe and doubted she’d have something super dangerous lined up. 

As soon as the car pulled away, Dean’s phone rang. Cradling Jack in one arm, he answered it. “What’s up, Bobby?”

“Get over here. I need you to check me in to Resting Pines Retirement Home before Ellen gets back.”

He blinked and said the first smartass thing that came to mind as he went into the house. “There are easier ways to breakup with a woman, you know. Isn’t checking yourself into a rest home a little extreme?”

“I’m not breaking up with Ellen, Dean. She wouldn’t do it.”

“That’s a rather personal admission. Did you try getting her drunk? That usually loosens up morals.”

Bobby heaved a heavy sigh. “No, I mean she wouldn’t check me in. We’re fine in the bedroom.” 

He shuddered. “Now that really was too much information.”

“Said I had no proof anything was hinkey, but my gut says yes.”

He frowned, put Jack in his playpen and sat on the couch. “Talk to me.” Bobby’s gut was usually good.

“Four unexplained deaths in the past three weeks.”

“In an old folk’s home? Where there are old people?”

“Yeah, idjit, in an old folk’s home. With old people.”

“Just checking.”

“Unexplained, as in no reasonable explanation for the deaths. All four were in good health.”

“Why are you so interested in that place?” And why was Ellen so sure there wasn’t anything there?

“A friend of mind called about it. She --”

“She?” Now the pieces were making sense. Old girlfriend maybe? “Uh-huh.”

“I can have women friends. Gina I go way back.”

The way he said ‘friends’ clinched it. Gina was an old girlfriend and Ellen was jealous. He wondered if Gina and Ellen had talked and what _that_ conversation had sounded like. “She live there or work there?”

“Work.”

Working woman, knew about the life enough to call Bobby in…. Definitely jealousy. Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything there. “Sure. I’ll get you in.”

It wouldn’t be Dean working it anyway. He’d just get Bobby there and in and come home for ten days of baby bonding time. 


	28. Chapter 28

Jo had actually been looking forward to a spa experience, not having ever had one, so she was surprised when Ellen parked across the street from a retirement home. She waited a minute, thinking that perhaps her mother was going to consult a map or something. “Mom?”

Ellen rolled down the window, letting in a blast of cool air, then fumbled under the seat and brought out a pair of binoculars, training them at the building.

“Mom? Where’s the spa? Why are we parked in front of an old folks home?”

“Because that hellspawn temptress ex of Bobby’s is up to something.”

“Are we or are we not going to a spa?”

“Not.”

Jo blinked. “Mom! You lied to me!”

“I had to make it convincing to see what the hussy wants from Bobby. I need you with me on this.”

“The vouchers?”

“Made them on the computer. Pretty easy once you figure out how.”

“But I looked at the website!” She’d gone over that site with a fine tooth comb, too, showing it to Dean, Gwen, and Sam even. She’d read through the descriptions of the services available and jotted down just what she was interested in. Damn it, she’d become invested in the idea!

“Yeah, it’s a real place. Fancy-schmancy, too. Paid real well….”

“You really did a job there?”

“Sure did.”

Jo sat back in the seat, closed her eyes, and crossed her arms. “Dean was right. Gwen was right. Sam was right. I’d say Castiel was right too except he didn’t actually say anything about it when he was there. He declined to comment, which basically means, he knew, too, and was therefore right as well.” She opened her eyes.

Ellen glanced over her shoulder at her before returning to her spying. “Oh, simmer down, Jo.”

“We’re not private detectives, mom.”

“Pretend you’re pursuing that career option.” She put the binoculars down and started the car. “Gotta move us. Can’t see her office from here.”

“You know where her office is? And who is she?”

“I got the building schematics and a real friendly receptionist told me over the phone how to get to her office. She, by the way, is Gina Travers and I wouldn’t trust her as far as I can throw her.” She pulled out of the parking place, drove a short ways down the street, and turned around, parking along the curb so they had a view of the front and side of the building.

“You know her then?”

“No.”

“Okay. Some irrational hatred there, mom.”

Ellen merely lifted the binoculars and made a satisfied noise. “There she is, the witch.”

Four hours later, Jo really had to pee, but Ellen wouldn’t leave the spot.

“He’ll come out today, I know it, and if I move for any reason, I’ll miss it.”

“My back teeth are swimming here.” She was able to stall the problem however, as she caught sight of the black Impala coming down the street and pulling into the lot. “Is that Dean? What’s he doing here? I thought he wasn’t doing anything this week?”

They watched as Dean got first Jack, then Bobby out of the car. Bobby was doing a pretty good impression of an ornery old guy unwilling to be there. Though to be fair, he could really be an ornery old guy at times.

“They’re walking straight into her clutches,” Ellen replied.

~~~~~~~~~~

What were the chances, Sam wondered, of having two connecting flights both delayed to the point they not only weren’t at the hotel in Florida where they were supposed to be, they also might miss embarkation entirely? The travel agent had arranged it so they’d get there with plenty of time, but here it was, four in the morning, and they weren’t any closer to Florida than they’d been ten hours earlier. He’d been tempted to rent a car and drive.

“Sam.” Gwen got his attention with a hoarse whisper and tapped a finger on the iPad. “It’s demonic omens.” She had a weather site up and had been studying the storm patterns that had waylaid their connecting flights. “I’m telling you, that’s what it is. Something is all churned up in the Midwest.”

Right now, he had no doubt in his mind that it was demonic omens. They were trying to get to their honeymoon (and well-earned vacation) so what else could it be? “Probably,” he agreed, “but we’re on vacation.”

She glanced up at him. “I can still speculate, vacation or not. I’m hardly suggesting we run out and check it out even though the storm is on our way to Florida….”

Tempting, but…. “No. We planned our honeymoon, we’re taking it.”

Handing him the iPad back, she stretched. “We’d be there faster if we drove.”

“We’d get sidetracked if we drove.” It had happened before and Dean and Jo already teased them enough about it.

“True.”

They sat in silence for awhile, Gwen playing Angry Birds on her phone and Sam checking out the weather patterns for himself. Definitely something going on in the Midwest. He sent Dean a few texts and an email about it because, as he’d indicated to Gwen, it wasn’t their problem. Dean could look at it, assess, then ask around for interested hunters. At nearly six, Gwen went and got them breakfast.

“You think sea monsters exist,” she asked, taking the lid off her coffee and gently blowing on it. Considering their destination, he thought it was a nicely leading question.

“Don’t see why not.” After all, they’d discovered dragons existed, so why not sea monsters, too?

“Mmm.” She took a bite of breakfast sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and poked a plastic fork into a small cup of fruit. “I found a few legends in the ports of call. Not a lot, you understand, just…a couple interesting ones.”

He suppressed a smile. That was his Gwen alright. “Uh-huh. That what tipped the scales on your decision?”

Her glance was coy and she continued to push the fruit about the cup without eating any of it. “Maybe.”

Sam chuckled and set his own empty fruit cup container aside. “Now the truth comes out. What else have you been hiding,” he teased. “Reference books from Bobby’s collection?”

“Like you didn’t find the same legends and you’re one to talk about reference books. I saw the one you packed.”

She had him pegged. Sam held up a hand in a gesture of defeat. “You caught me. Did you find the mermaid story?”

“Are you kidding?” She shoved the remains of her sandwich to one side, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “That was the main one I want to check out. How jealous would Dean and Jo be if we found a mermaid on our honeymoon?”

“Enough to come down themselves and try to find something bigger. I called Rufus and got the name of a friend of his we can look up in Jamaica.”

“You are a most excellent husband.”

“Thanks. You didn’t let on you’d done research, did you?”

Shaking her head, she sat back. “Hell no. After Dean and Jo made such a big deal about honeymoons being for goofing off and having fun without anything work related present?”

“Good. We find something, we pretend it was coincidence.”

“They’ll never believe that. Not from us.”

“They’ll have to.”

Twenty minutes later, they were boarding their flight and within hours, they were standing in line for embarkation.

“We actually made it.” Sam half laughed. Not only had they made it, but they’d gotten there before half of the other passengers. The line behind them had gotten longer and longer as they’d progressed through the stations.

Finally, they were on the upper deck, taking in the ship and the view from the ship. He decided they could consider their honeymoon officially begun.

Gwen turned in a slow circle, frowning. “I thought it’d be bigger. What do you think? Shouldn’t it be bigger?”

Sam did a slow circle too, noting the different decks and the crowd beginning to really form on each one. “It looked bigger online.” The ship had looked huge online. “Want to go find our room?”

Their room was small and compact, but did have a balcony. They set their carry-ons on the bed and stepped outside. It only took two steps to reach the railing. Not the biggest balcony, yet it was theirs. Sam grasped the railing with both hands and leaned over. The bridge was down on the left, the center of the ship on the right. Already, he could hear splashes from the pool.

“This is too cool,” Gwen declared, crossing her arms and resting them on the railing.

“We’ll have to thank Bobby for the recommendation.” He put his arm around her, curving his hand about her waist.

“Definitely.”

He leaned down to kiss her.

From next door came the sound of the balcony door opening and a click. A second later, a cloud of cigarette smoke wafted onto their balcony, catching them both in the face.

Gwen waved a hand to dispel it and coughed. “Let’s explore a little on deck.”

As Sam turned from the balcony, he thought he saw something in the water. He paused, leaned over, squinted, and decided he’d been imagining it. There were hardly whales in the harbor and that had looked a lot like the tail of a whale. He had to be imagining it. Wouldn’t a whale’s tail be bigger than what he’d seen?

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean woke in the center of the bed and stretched. He wondered if Jo had enjoyed her first night at the spa, if they really were at one, and if she had a full day planned of beauty treatments. It was tempting to call her, but he didn’t want to interrupt her relaxing vacation with Ellen if it was a real vacation. She and Ellen both deserved time off. Jo especially. 

She’d been a good sport about staying home with Jack and not going out on jobs as often as he and Sam went out, though he knew his panic attack had been a large part of that. She worried he was going to have another one and, despite what he’d told her, he worried, too. He’d thought he would’ve had one the first time she and Gwen had gone out after the accident and he hadn’t. Dean just wasn’t sure what would trigger another one or if he was going to have another at all.

He could hear Jack babbling away in his room, the crib squeaking as he bounced. He’d gotten better at that and at walking. Dean fully expected to see Jack toddle around by himself any day now. Jack wasn’t crying yet, or appeared to realize Dean was awake, so Dean reached for his phone, checking for messages.

Sam had sent seven texts about weather patterns in the Midwest and one long email with links to websites. He groaned.

“Someone tell that kid he’s on his honeymoon already. No work.”

Setting the phone aside, he got out of bed and began the first day of daddy-son time.

They had breakfast and watched a kid show. Dean watched, rather, wondering if the host was high. No one was that happy without chemical assistance. Jack was too busy playing with a toy on the floor to pay attention to the tv. Quickly bored with the show, Dean flipped channels and just when he was about to give up on finding something to watch, he found Dr. Sexy, M.D. on the Soap channel. They were running a marathon.

He glanced around the living room, stretching out.

No one was home, he reasoned. He could watch it in peace without having to change the channel whenever anyone walked in.

Jack crawled to the coffee table, used the edge to pull himself up and steady himself as he went around it, and grasped Dean’s jeans, trying to pull himself up on the couch. Dean lifted him.

“You want to watch, too?” He explained what was going on to his son, who was more interested in using him as a jungle gym, then bed.

It was a relaxing day, one of the best he’d had in a very long time and one that could be described as positively normal. He did no research, didn’t look at any news reports, and when he hadn’t heard from Jo or Bobby by the end of the day, he concluded everything might actually be going okay for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Balthazar pasted on his most seductive grin and approached the eldest Fate. “Clotho.”

She snapped her briefcase shut. “Balthazar.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking --”

“Oh no, not that.”

He blinked. There weren’t many beings that were able to actively intimidate him -- at least that he’d admit -- but the eldest Fate came very close to being on of those beings. He knew the sorts of things all the Fates were capable of. “Excuse me?”

“You thinking is infinitely dangerous for all surrounding you,” she clarified, the slightest of amused twinkles in her eyes when she looked at him.

“Er…I suppose.” She was amused, so should he take that as teasing? He cleared his throat. “Would you be int --”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me --”

“No.”

“You’re not --”

“No.” Her smile was gentle, almost affable even. “I don’t eat, drink, sleep, or otherwise engage in such human activities as you and some others like to partake. What I do, Balthazar, is work, a thing you don’t appear too familiar with these days.”

“I work,” he protested, then tried to remember when his last appointment had been and was thoroughly unsuccessful in pinning it down. Perhaps he _had_ been slightly lax in his duties of late.

“Oh?” At her raised brows, he had the maddening urge to justify himself, even opening his mouth to start babbling excuses at her.

Balthazar forced himself to stay silent and twitch a brow in a way he hoped she found irritatingly impudent.

The twinkle in her eyes deepened. “Then I suggest you be about it and not interrupt vital workings of the world with unimportant requests for my leisure time, of which I have none.” She grasped the handle of her briefcase and lifted it. “You might try Lachesis. She’s usually willing to have drinks with just about anyone.” Clothos walked away.

He felt very much like a naughty child who’d been disciplined. Not in itself a completely bad sensation…. He was glad no one had witnessed it, however. Turning on his heel, Balthazar strolled off to plan his proposition of Lachesis. Perhaps she’d be more receptive and would loosen her lips regarding Castiel and Abigael.

~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed to take forever until they were underway and once the ship was in motion, Sam and Gwen returned to their cabin with thoughts of changing into swimsuits and joining the throng already in the various pools on the ship. Before they could get their swimsuits out, their steward stopped by and introduced himself, assuring them that their luggage would arrive within a few hours. Gwen wasn’t really worried about lost luggage. When the door was closed once more, and the ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging outside, she opened her carry-on bag to retrieve her swimsuit.

Much to her delight, Sam had other ideas, reaching for her instead of his carry-on.

He was gentle, so very gentle, and Gwen saw a lingering fear in his eyes. Even after the time that had passed, he was afraid of being rough with her, afraid she wasn’t really healed even though all scans had shown she was. She’d fully recovered from the accident and this gentleness was getting tiresome. She missed him grabbing her and the thrill of being picked up and carried to wherever he wanted her.

“Sam,” she whispered, sliding a hand along his chest in a slow caress.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want the gentleman right now. We’re on our honeymoon. I think we can be a little wild here.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You know I don’t mind a few bruises, especially the way we get them.”

“You’re sure?” His arms tightened around her.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want hard and fast with as much emotion as you’ve got.” She recalled saying something similar to him once before.

The fear faded, replaced by that familiar spark he had in his eyes when he’d been holding himself back and was ready to release all of that pent-up emotion. Her heartbeat quickened because that spark meant delivery was going to have her screaming his name very soon.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said, sliding a finger along her jaw. The words were silky, his voice a bit rough.

“I’ll chance it.”

His kisses were filled with passion and an aching need rose up inside her. They undressed quickly, continuing to kiss and caress as each item was removed. The gentleness was gone, and right then, Gwen was glad. This felt like a new beginning.

In a quieter moment a long while later, Gwen raised her head off Sam’s chest and reached for his watch. “We missed our first dinner onboard,” she said, putting the watch down and sitting up to look out the window at the ocean. Already, she was glad Bobby and Jodie had told them to get a balcony room.

“It was a buffet anyway.” Sam shifted, moving close. A hand swept up her arm and he pressed a string of kisses up her back to her shoulder. “You want to go find something? There’s supposed to be food available all the time.”

“I definitely do. We can explore the ship a bit, too.”

“We have all week to do that.” He sat beside her. “I wonder if our luggage is outside yet.”

It wasn’t, so they showered, used the change of clothes Jo had insisted they put in their carry-ons, and left the room in search of dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

Returning from a late dinner of some of the best pizza Sam had ever had, they discovered their luggage waiting outside their door. From the clutter in the hallway, they weren’t the only ones who’d missed luggage drop-off. Taking the cases inside, they set them on the tiny couch and became distracted by each other before they could begin unpacking.

It was just after six-thirty when Sam woke up. Gwen was already awake and in the shower. By the time he was done with his own shower, she had her case on the bed and open, but hadn’t started getting dressed yet. Rather, she was holding up a thick magazine, staring at it like it was a disgusting thing she had to get rid of. 

“Where the hell did this come from,” she asked, turning it around so he could read the title.

‘In Style’.

Sam laughed. Gwen didn’t read ‘In Style’. She made _fun_ of people who read it, including Jo. He was sure Jo got her own digs in somewhere on Gwen’s choices of reading material.

“Did you do this?”

“No.”

“I don’t read crap like this.” She reached into the zippered outer pocket of the case and pulled out ‘Glamour’, ‘Cosmopolitan’, and tossed them on the bed with ‘In Style’. “Who the hell --”

“Is that even your suitcase?” It had light dresses and things he’d never seen Gwen wear in it.

“Of course it’s my suitcase.” She adjusted the towel around her, then unzipped the lining on the pocket to show him the symbols in marker on the inner lid. “See?”

“Whose clothes are those? They look more like Jo’s taste --”

“We hit a good clearance sale. I didn’t shop just for you, you know. Very little in my wardrobe was cruise appropriate.”

He snagged one tiny sundress and held it up. “You’re gonna wear this?” He knew he’d appreciate it if she did. Probably half the men on board would appreciate it if she did.

“Maybe.” Dropping the towel, she reached for her underwear.

“Wear it today. I dare you.”

“Sam --”

“ _Double_ dare you. Double dog dare you.”

“Fine.” She took the dress and pulled it on. “Dare accepted.”

“All day,” he hurried to include, “in public.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” 

She put her hands on her hips. “You get dressed now.”

Sam opened his suitcase and reached for the first clothes on top, not really caring what he grabbed. Gwen had thoughtfully bought him a few hot weather items he normally didn’t wear, shorts and shirts. Cruise wear, she’d called it. Whatever it was, it was a pile of clothes he was never going to wear ever again after the cruise was over. “I still don’t see why we can’t wear jeans.”

“Too hot.”

He looked at himself in the mirror, plucking at the shirt, then the shorts. “I look like one of those guys Dean makes fun of.”

“Actually, you look like Dean when you first brought him to us.” She reached for the ‘In Style’ magazine, studying it like she was looking for clues. “Who put this…trash in my suitcase?”

“Probably Jo.”

“Why would she be so sadistic? I thought she liked me.”

“It’s light reading,” he soothed.

“It’s fluff.” She searched her suitcase. “I had better reading material in here. I know I did. And where are my notes? I had notes on those legends in here.” All she turned up however was a thick romance novel of the bodice ripper historical variety that Sam had seen Dean reading and a puzzle book.

He snickered and looked in the zippered pocket of his case for his own reading material. His amusement at her dilemma faded as he realized his own stash of reading material had been switched as well. He found two car magazines and two books in a horror trilogy about zombies that Jo had finished months earlier. The first one had a post-it stuck inside, bright yellow peeking out. He opened the book to read the note. In Jo’s handwriting was written: what r u doing reading on ur honeymoon?. In the second book was another note: don’t u have better things 2 do? “Son of a bitch.”

“Something wrong?”

Her raucous laugh when he held up his reading choices would have been irritating if he hadn’t already laughed the same way for her dilemma. He dropped them on the bed next to the magazines from her case. Like her case, the research and reference book were gone. He had to admit Dean and Jo knew them well enough to anticipate them on that front. He should have known to check the suitcases before handing them over to the airline. “We’re stuck with crap reading choices. You think Jo did that on her own, or did she have help from Dean?”

“Jo doesn’t need help to be devious. Trust me. The reading stuff is her contribution to our honeymoon.”

“So what’s Dean’s?” He stared at her. “Not like he’d forget to get involved. Not as gung-ho as he was for us to actually go on a honeymoon.” A thought hit him and he shook his head. He recalled that awfully long list he’d seen on the computer. Surely Dean hadn’t…. “Oh no.”

Gwen stared back. Slowly, her lips parted. “Empty out your case. Every pocket.”

“Empty out yours.”

Gwen’s case had nothing aside from her clothes and both their toiletries in it. Sam’s case however….

“Did they just close their eyes and point at things on the pages on that website to choose?” He held up one product with a label that guaranteed ‘she’ll be pleased again and again’. There was a wide variety of products, a couple he had to really think about a minute to realize what they were for.

“Oh, I think they showed some restraint.” She set aside several containers of body paint and one of massage oil. “It doesn’t look like anything needs batteries.”

He picked up one item and flipped the switch. It hummed and a piece of it wiggled. “Batteries are already included.”

“I stand corrected,” she replied. “Wow. They spent some cash.”

“Dean probably gets a wholesale discount.”

She laughed, “probably,” and picked up one of the items he’d had to think about. “Is this for what I think it is?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Eww.” She dropped it back on the bed. “Do you think the airline searched your luggage?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a good long laugh.” 

Gwen and Sam both sighed, shook their heads, and looked at each other. Sam was in too good of a mood to stay pissed at Dean and Jo, who were hundreds of miles away at present.

“They were trying to help, I guess.” Gwen shrugged.

“I’d rather they didn’t.”

“Their hearts are in the right place.”

“True. We should pull something on them when we get back.”

“Count on it.”

He grinned at her. The two of them could come up with something…. A thought occurred to him and, by the same sudden alarmed expression on her face, it had occurred to her, too.

“Excursion tickets,” they said in unison and scrambled for the envelope.

Sam ripped it open. To his great relief, neither Jo nor Dean had thought to pretend to be them and call and change anything. Although, maybe they had and had gotten caught.

“Okay.” Gwen held up her hands. “Can they possibly have any more surprises in store for us?”

“No.” Though he wasn’t sure about that.

“Good.” She placed all the items back in the suitcase, dumped his clothes on top, and zipped it shut. “Then let’s go have breakfast.” She slid on a pair of sandals, dropped a pair by his feet, and headed for the door.

He put on the sandals and followed her out into the hallway, mildly self-conscious in the unfamiliar clothes and shoes, yet willing to wear them if she’d dress in those tiny dresses the whole cruise. He put Dean and Jo’s pranks from his mind and was determined to enjoy this cruise -- whether they were able to find a hunt of some kind or not. 


	29. Chapter 29

The day was overcast and dull, the sky a dark gray, those clouds heavy with rain. Jo’s toenails, however, were a nice cheery bright pink. She wiggled them and leaned over to put on a second coat. She’d intended to have matching finger and toe nails for once, since she’d _thought_ they were going to a spa, but whatever. She smothered a yawn as she worked.

“Do you have to do that in the car?” Ellen cast a disgusted glance at Jo.

It was an old issue between them. Ellen disliked Jo painting her nails on stakeouts and Jo did it anyway. Since this didn’t appear to have any danger to it, she’d decided to chance doing her toenails this time instead of simply putting light pink or clear polish on her fingernails. “You won’t let me do anything else,” she pointed out. “I offered to make some calls for background information on Gina. I offered to check into what could possibly be happening here if Bobby’s right and I offered to go inside and talk to Bobby.”

“Then he’d know I was here and he’d know I’m worried about him.”

She really was worried, too. She thought Gina Travers was up to something and that something was nothing good. Jo couldn’t figure out what the woman could be up to, but realized it wasn’t all about that. A chunk of it was that her mother wasn’t ready for Bobby to realize the depth of her feelings for him. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve gone right in and inserted herself into the investigation. These weren’t normal circumstances, however. This time, Ellen was riding that rollercoaster of feeling that sometimes caused irrational behavior. “That’s not a bad thing, mom.”

“Or he’ll think I’m jealous and he’ll ignore the fact that that woman is up to something. He’s already ignoring it, taking the bait.”

“How do you know she’s up to something?” Jo finished applying the second coat and closed the bottle up tight. 

“She flirted with him. Shamelessly.”

Somehow, Jo didn’t think her mother was telling the whole story. “Maybe she thought it was the only way he’d consent to checking the place out.”

Ellen snorted and trained the binoculars on Gina’s office window. Raindrops splattered the windshield. Dean had shown up earlier, stayed for only minutes inside, and left. He’d sat in the Impala so long upon coming out of the building that Ellen had moved the car to keep him from noticing they were there. When they’d been sure he was gone, she’d parked them right back where she had a clear view of the office.

“Talk to me, mom. Why are you so sure she’s trouble? This isn’t like you. You have real reasons for doing things.”

She lowered the binoculars and looked at Jo. “He hadn’t seen her in a good decade or so and she just up and calls him? If these deaths are so unexplained, why aren’t the police everywhere on it? Why haven’t there been autopsies or some sort of official investigation?”

“I don’t know.” It did seem weird. The last case Jo had worked with unexplained deaths had been with Gwen and they’d been neck deep in police politics trying to get information. They’d almost gotten themselves arrested and had managed to split town before that happened. “As for her calling out of the blue…. It happens. Especially in our lives. People come and go, usually go, and sometimes they come back years later. You, me, Sam, and Dean are a prime example of that.”

“Not like this.” She was firm, unbending, and so certain.

“Explain it to me.”

“I can’t explain a gut feeling, Jo. You know that. I feel it in my gut, in all of me, that something isn’t right about her. I tried to tell Bobby, but her pretty face had him all smitten.”

“Wait, what? Did she come to the house?” Jo turned in the seat.

“No, we met her halfway.” She sighed. “Greeted him like no time had passed, planted a kiss right on his mouth, and he went all goo-goo eyed.”

“He’s not going anywhere. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“I’m not jealous,” she insisted, then made a noise of frustration and looked out the side window again. “Maybe I am a little, but I’m scared to death for him in there. She could do anything.”

They lapsed into quiet and Jo attempted to change the subject to something a little less emotional. “You think Sam and Gwen are enjoying their honeymoon?”

“I think Sam and Gwen can have a good time together digging up graves...and have.” She turned the little wheel to focus the binoculars. “You can get me new binoculars for Christmas, by the way. These are crap.”

“I hope they’re not digging up graves -- or planning on it.” Jo frowned. “I made them promise no work on this trip.”

“Think about how well that usually works out.”

She was contemplating getting out and skulking around the grounds in the rain and mud just for a change of pace when Dean called. Immediately, Jo thought of a million things that could be wrong. Luckily, none of them materialized by force of paranoid thought.

~~~~~~~~~~

For their second day together, Dean had planned something special. Sort of anyway.

Since Jo never believed him that Jack ate a full adult portion of oatmeal, Dean got out the spare video camera and set it on the tripod, making adjustments until he had it where he wanted it. He turned it on while he made the oatmeal -- one cup of water, half a cup of oats, and some applesauce to sweeten it a little -- then left it watching the oatmeal cool while he got Jack up, changed, and in his highchair. He carried the tripod and oatmeal to the table, adjusting again. Jack was making desperate crying noises, his feet kicking and hands reaching for the bowl. He was acting like he thought Dean wasn’t going to actually feed him.

“Okay, let’s say hi to mommy.” He waved one of Jack’s hands at the camera and said in a high voice, “Hi mommy.” He put a large bib on him and checked to make sure the area was covered with an outdoor tablecloth before beginning to spoon the cooled oatmeal into Jack’s mouth. Jack even didn’t spit much of it out this time, though he did try to help by attempting to shove a fist in the bowl to feed himself. 

He was getting pretty good at grabbing food and shoving it into his mouth. And grabbing anything else not nailed down and shoving it into his mouth. Jack would put anything in his mouth right now, whether it was edible or not. Jo would take whatever it was away, and tell him ‘no’ in a firm tone that brought either a scowl or waterworks every time. He’d then throw a fit of epic proportions until Jo would pick him up and hold him. He had her wrapped around his tiny little finger. When Dean said ‘no’, Jack would stare up at him without a scowl or crying, just a sort of solemn expression acknowledging that dad saying no could startle the crap out of him so he forgot what he was doing.

The phone rang. Dean paused in feeding Jack and looked at it. It was Bobby. With a sigh, he answered it. “Yeah?”

“They want me to eat cream of wheat,” he announced in a disgusted tone.

“Hmm. There really is something evil going on there.” He wiped Jack’s mouth with a cloth. It did no good, as Jack snaked a hand into the bowl, got it all sticky with oatmeal, and raised it to his mouth, smearing oatmeal across his cheeks, chin, nose, and mouth in the process.

“Bring me a real breakfast, will you?”

Jack’s hand lowered into the bowl again. This time he held the oatmeal encrusted digits up to Dean.

“Daddy already ate,” he whispered to Jack, then said to Bobby, “Is that the only thing they’re serving?”

“No, but it all looks regurgitated and the coffee tastes like decaf.”

“You want me to drive an hour to bring you breakfast?” Was he being serious? If he wanted help, all he had to do was ask. Not that Dean could give much help right now, but still. He didn’t have to invent a reason for him to go back there.

“Did I or did I not just say that? Damn it, here comes that creepy orderly. I gotta go.” The phone clicked as Bobby hung up on him.

“Bye to you too.”

He finished feeding Jack, got him cleaned up and dressed, then headed out to take Bobby something completely forbidden by the retirement home nutritionist. To his surprise, breakfast was all Bobby wanted.

“That’s it? You had me drive an hour to get you food?”

“Of course, idjit.”

“No help wanted, no --”

Bobby glanced at the door and leaned over slightly, voice lowering. “What else do you think a crotchety old guy would do but drive his kids nuts…son? Get outta here before you make me break character.”

Dean shook his head, envisioning the next few days of Bobby calling and demanding he drive there for various reasons all so he wouldn’t break character. It was going to be a long few days. As he returned to the car and began to strap Jack in to his seat, he glanced out the back window.

Was that Ellen’s car? It sure looked a lot like it. However, the car pulled away from the curb and headed down the street before he could get a good look at the license plate or the occupants.

Back home and with Jack on his lap, Dean looked through the little they had on the Soul Stealer.

“This is daddy working,” he told him. “Daddy takes care of some very bad things out there in the world.” 

Jack glanced up at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed by that, and continued to try to throw his pacifier down. It swung from the string attached to his shirt. When it stopped swinging, he’d grab it, put it in his mouth for about three seconds, then try once more to throw it. Along with putting things in his mouth, he was getting good at throwing objects, or dropping them from his high chair. Some days he could get Sam bending down to pick up the same object for upwards of ten minutes before Sam got tired of it and left the object on the floor.

Dean flipped pages. What they had was a folder of nothing. Sophie and Chris were tracking down Native American legends that might fit, emphasis on the might part. It had been Chris’s idea, that maybe the Navajo or Cherokee would have something that could give them information. They weren’t just checking those legends, however, they were hitting up all the Native American legends in the U.S.. Hell, they weren’t even sure if the creature had originated here. For all they knew, it had migrated from the Middle East or something centuries ago. 

It was like every possible bit of information had been scrubbed away. How did they fight something when they didn’t know how to fight it?

He sighed. “This is daddy frustrated by what little information he has on a very bad creature.”

Jack frowned and began babbling. When he finished, he reached for the pacifier again, shoved it in his mouth, and leaned against Dean, closing his eyes.

“Naptime already?” He shut the folder. “Sounds good to me. Let’s take a nap.”

With Jack settled in the playpen, one arm and hand clutching the stuffed animal Gwen had given him, Dean returned to the file. Though they’d been waiting and watching, the Soul Stealer didn’t peek out of wherever he was hiding. Somehow, Dean didn’t think they’d be lucky enough that he’d gotten bound again by someone else. There was never anyone else. It was always them having to do the work. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Just once, he’d like someone else to take care of the biggest of the big bads.

The creature was out there somewhere, biding his time. What was he waiting for? Why wasn’t he wreaking havoc across the country like he was supposed to? It was unreal that it wasn’t doing anything anywhere. It made no sense. Thinking about it gave him a headache and he reached for his phone, dialing Jo.

“What’s wrong,” was her greeting.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just checking to see how the spa thing is going.”

There was silence and then, “Fine. It’s going…fine.”

“You and Ellen having a good time then?”

“Wonderful.”

Was that a touch of sarcasm he heard? “You all manicured and been in the mud bath yet?”

“My nails are done,” she confirmed. “No mud bath, but I wouldn’t rule out mud in the near future.”

“Mmm-hmm. Ellen told you what the job is yet or are you still flying blind?”

“I can tell you for sure, sweetheart, that it’s not a job.”

“Okay. Sure. Well, keep your gun with you and don’t let her try to dig up any graves by herself.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“You did take your gun?”

“We’re not digging up graves, Dean. How’s Jack?”

He cast a glance at their son, who was still sleeping. “He’s napping. That’s some cute kid we made, Jo.”

They talked for awhile longer, Jo assuring him at such length that they weren’t on a job that he was now completely certain they were. He waited for panic to creep over him, but it didn’t. She was with Ellen. Ellen would keep her safe to her own death if need be.

Tired of pouring over what little they’d found on the Soul Stealer, Dean spread out the data Sam had sent the previous morning. Soon he was engrossed in weather patterns and, in checking actual news reports from the areas hit by the weird storms, he stumbled upon something that might be, well, _something_. He found reports of attacks that seemed to have no motive and left the victims confused and saying things that made no sense, like how they felt different after the attack. They no longer felt like themselves.

And then he found the latest reports. A town in Illinois of fourteen hundred people dead. All the people mutilated, every last one. Man, woman, and child. No one had been spared and the authorities had no idea what would have done that.

Now _that_ was something.

Dean began to make some calls.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen carried the ‘In Style’ magazine under her arm and a drink in either hand. She figured she needed a few drinks in her to read the stupid magazine. Slowly, she searched the starboard lower outer deck for Sam, realizing he wasn’t there and the chairs were all full. Contemplating that fact, she sucked down the last of the drink in her left hand.

Had he meant port side instead?

She set the empty glass down, grabbed a refill from a passing server, and pushed back into the ship and across the lounge to the port side and out onto the deck. Success. There, halfway down, she could see Sam in one chaise. He had it all the way back. As she approached, Gwen saw three empty glasses on the deck beside him, the same sort she was carrying, and one of the car magazines was open on his chest. He was asleep, splayed out, his shirt unbuttoned completely. Impressive that he could drink three drinks and fall asleep so quickly since she’d been gone less than ten minutes.

Sitting on the chaise beside him were three teenage girls, one blond, one brunette, and one redhead, all watching him with adoring grins as they giggled to each other.

Gwen fumbled for the camera dangling from her wrist.

Six mango peach strawberry slushy thingies, possibly alcoholic: nine dollars a pop. Cruise appropriate clothes for her husband: two hundred dollars. Husband asleep on the deck with three adoring teenage fans drooling on him: priceless.

She made sure to snap three or four pictures for Dean and Jo’s enjoyment later before moving to Sam’s other side and sitting down. Surely those pictures might make up for some of Jo’s embarrassment? “Hey.”

The girls looked at her, smiles faltering. “Um…hi?” It was the brunette who spoke.

“I’m Gwen.”

“I’m Kathy. This is Katie,” the redhead, “and this is Kerry,” the blond.

“Kathy, Katie, and Kerry. Right.” She gestured at Sam with one glass. “This is Sam, my husband.”

“Told you he was married,” the blond hissed.

“Good ones always are,” the redhead replied with an almost depressed shake of her head.

Gwen carefully set down the drinks, then lifted the magazine and dropped it onto the deck between their chairs.

Sam woke with a start and a yell, one arm flailing for the gun he kept at the head of their bed back home and didn’t have here. She recognized the gesture. He blinked in a thoroughly adorable confused way.

“Have a nice nap?” Lifting one glass, she took a long sip. Definitely a little alcoholic. She could feel the warmth of the alcohol now.

He blinked several times more, focused on the girls, and without taking his eyes from them, leaned over to her. “Do we know them?”

“Kathy, Katie, and Kerry.” Gwen saluted them with one drink.

“Uh-huh?” His gaze slid to her. “Why are they staring at me?”

“You really have to ask that, oh mostly shirtless hubby of mine with the rippling muscles?” The words just sort of flowed from her tongue and Gwen decided perhaps she should quit drinking the cocktails like they were flavored water.

Sam sat up, laid the car magazine aside and buttoned his shirt. “Guess not.” He cleared his throat. “Hi. I’m, uh, I’m Sam.”

“We know,” they replied in unison, then giggled.

“Your wife introduced you while you were sleeping,” Kathy whispered, like it was confidential information.

“Yeah….” Taking the drink Gwen handed him, he took a long drink. “Where are you from?”

“Not far,” Katie said.

Gwen picked the magazine up from the deck and laid it on her lap.

“But we do a lot of traveling.” Kerry twirled a lock of her hair around and around a finger. She had a pretty shell bracelet on her wrist that jangled a little when she moved her arm. “We’re seasoned travelers.”

Kathy stretched her legs out. “Mostly the islands. A cruise looked like fun, though, so we hopped aboard. We’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

Hopped aboard?

“Your parents take you on a lot of vacations?”

The teens giggled again, but ignored the question, Katie sitting forward with an eager light in her eyes. “Where are you both from?”

“South Dakota,” Gwen told her, flipping pages of the magazine without looking at the pages. It was easier to say that than try to explain otherwise. Besides, no one here needed to know their history.

Kerry drew in a deep delighted breath. “South Dakota! I’ve always wanted to go inland!”

“We stay mainly by the coast and islands,” Katie explained. “Tell us all about South Dakota. Everything. Is it awesome? Is it wonderful? Is it too pretty for words? Is there a lot to do there?”

“It’s….” Sam glanced at Gwen as if to ask her to help him out on that one.

“Everything you’d expect it to be.” She nodded. “And more.”

“We’d love to go there some time.” Kathy’s voice was wistful.

“So take a vacation there.” Sam adjusted his chair.

The three teens looked at each other, then frowned. Gwen wondered what about that suggestion caused that reaction. Their parents obviously had enough money to take them anywhere, so why not South Dakota?

“We’d have to really research that,” Kathy announced. “It’s an awfully long way to go.”

“We’ve gone further,” Kerry mused in a thoughtful tone. “Much further…but mostly in sea miles.”

“I’m intrigued.” Katie nodded slowly. “We should go discuss this.” She smiled. “I like the idea!”

In less than a minute, the three girls had disappeared through the double doors into the ship and Gwen laid back in her chair. “That was interesting.”

“What’s to research about South Dakota?”

“Anything teen girls would like to do? Teen girls with money anyway. Somehow, I suspect shopping is high on their list of priorities.”

Reaching over, he snagged the camera and looked at the pictures she’d taken. “At least I wasn’t drooling in these.”

“Don’t delete them,” she ordered. “You delete them and I’ll find those girls and restage the whole thing.” They’d agreed beforehand not to delete any pictures and make Dean and Jo suffer though pointless pictures of things like accidental shots of their own hands and blurry pictures of what could be scenery along with the real trip photos. “We agreed. No deleting.”

“I sort of had to delete the ones we took last night.” He set the camera on her lap, fingers sliding along her thigh in a quick caress. “Not the sort of pictures we want to share with anyone.”

Heat flared across her cheeks. “Deleting those was fine…as will be deleting any more like that we may take the rest of the week.”

Sam sat up and leaned over to her, mouth to her ear. “In that case, I’ve got a few ideas for that one…product.” His hand touched her leg again, fingers sliding slowly up it to her hip. It wasn’t anything too touchy-feely for in public, yet managed to convey where his thoughts were headed. “What’s say we go back to the room and _rest_ before dinner?”

“Dinner’s in four hours.”

“I think we can fill the time somehow.”

“Sam Winchester, I like how you think.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aaron Bennett was going to be trouble.

Castiel closed the journal he’d been reading and sat back in the desk chair, his attention sliding first to the box filled with Trickster magic, then to the various journals, published books and other items he’d been tasked with keeping from Sam and Dean the past couple months. Aaron Bennett. The man was dead, but he was going to be trouble nonetheless. 

He’d completed his latest task in Death’s plan and taken one journal from the many in the trunk that had been Aaron’s. He’d also lifted a few pictures and, while he’d been there, he’d quietly perused the rest of the journals, skimming the contents quickly to get a better feel for Aaron’s character.

The question Balthazar had asked of who had given Aaron the symbols kept running through his mind. Honestly, he didn’t see Gabriel giving that knowledge away. If the Trickster had become trouble, Gabriel would have dealt with him himself, not trusted humans to do it. That conclusion left an interesting puzzle behind, one that Castiel was thinking about. Aaron was smart, a good chronicler, and specific in details. The clues had to be there somewhere and Death hadn’t forbidden Castiel to discover the truth. In fact, he’d encouraged him to study every part of the information available.

Had someone given Aaron the information, or had he just been that smart, tapped in somehow to ancient Enochian?

A knock sounded on the door and it opened, Uzziel stepping inside. “You wanted to see me?”

He motioned for him to close the door and once Uzziel had he said, “You worked with Michael a long time.” He didn’t mention Raphael. It stood to reason Raphael hadn’t had that information because if Raphael had had the symbols to use the way Balthazar suggested they could be, he would have used them. He wouldn’t have hesitated. Balthazar claimed they were the oldest form of Enochian, that the knowledge was ancient. Michael had been the oldest, therefore, he assumed Michael had known them.

“Yes?”

“Did you ever see any symbols like these?” He sat forward and touched the box with a hand. “Did Michael use any?”

Uzziel came close and studied the box. He picked it up, turned it this way and that, then set it back down. “A couple of them are similar to what Michael used on you, but I don’t recall seeing these exact symbols before. What’s this about, Castiel?”

He sighed. “A man and a destiny.”

“Which man? Which destiny?”

He didn’t answer that, sitting back. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Name it.”

“Find out everything you can about the people who were in Aaron Bennett’s life.” He was beginning to suspect that someone hadn’t been who he or she appeared to be. While he could ask Abigael for the information, since he’d given her the initial task of Gwen’s family genealogy, he wanted someone not connected with Death and the Fates in any of this. He wanted someone who’d be discreet and who’d get the job done, yet didn’t have a real stake in the events somehow. To be completely honest, he wanted someone who’d be loyal to him in the end and not to Death and the Fates. Because of her position in the world, Abigael was no longer a full ally. She had her own agenda because of her charges and the full nature of her job and that agenda was aligned with Death and the Fates. He hated to discount her, but that was simply how it had to be. 

The angel that came to mind was Uzziel. His job was in a different area of heaven and Castiel knew he’d discover what Cas needed.

“You mean Gwen Winchester’s father? Isn’t he dead, Castiel?”

“He is, but he still has the power to affect events today. I’d like to know where he got the obscure information contained in his journals and if the…individual is still alive today.” If his increasing suspicions were correct, Balthazar was right and Michael had been very wrong in the Watchers dying out. Not only hadn’t they died out, but they were still out there, manipulating events by giving out information that should remain buried. They’d taken an interest in Aaron Bennett. Why?

Or was he seeing what wasn’t there? Were he and Balthazar seeing what wasn’t there? Was he hoping for an outside influence instead of the brilliant mind of a human? Was that information beyond what the human mind was capable of deciphering? It had to be an outside influence. Had to be. Castiel didn’t see any way a human would be able to discover the things Aaron had, even a brilliant human.

When Uzziel had gone, Castiel turned his chair, studying the things he’d taken from earth, things he locked up in this room to protect. Only he had the key. He hated keeping information from Sam and Dean, his only consolation in doing this being that there’d be balance. He hung on to that as hard as he could. Neither heaven or earth would be destroyed in the end, though there would be blood spilled. A lot of blood at that. 

It had already begun.

The Soul Stealer was making his presence known, gaining speed almost too fast for Castiel to keep his exploits covered over like he was supposed to. Death hadn’t indicated how difficult it’d be to keep up with the creature. All of Castiel’s time was spent in that task. There was no time for anything else. It was hard to keep the pattern of his attacks and the news reports suppressed, to keep Dean and Sam from focusing in on the definite string of attacks happening across the U.S. from Colorado to Indiana. Other hunters could notice, just not Sam and Dean. They had to remain unaware until the time was right.

The Soul Stealer was tasting the population, eating a bite here and there, leaving behind confused people aching for the part of them that had been taken. In some cases, the creature had eaten over half the soul and with each victim, Castiel found himself thrown back in his memories to earlier days, when Sam had reappeared soulless. Those poor people…. If he’d understood what helping Death had meant for the victims, would he have agreed to do this? He could almost hear Dean asking him if he’d lost his marbles to agree to work with Death in any way, shape, or form. He smiled a sad little smile, picturing the way Dean would shake his head and say, “He’s Death, and you’re willingly being his errand boy? Are you screwed in the head? Don’t you think you should be protecting those people, not letting some hellspawn rip their souls apart?”

Maybe he _was_ screwed in the head. Balance and order were supposed to be good things, good goals to work towards.

But he hadn’t understood the consequences for the victims until he’d seen the consequences right there in front of him. He’d thought only of the balance that would occur in the end, not about the victims that would pay the price, and because of how he was to aid Death, he saw each victim, each consequence along this path. He was confronted with it at all hours of day and night in an unceasing public relations nightmare.

That was what he’d become. A public relations agent, scrubbing away the bad so Dean and Sam wouldn’t see it.

He had to ride this out. It was too late to turn back. Balance was already sliding back and forth along the scale, wobbling from side to side. To step in now and hand over the information would tilt it too far in a single direction.

It’ll be okay, he told himself over and over. In a few short months, Sam and Dean would have that information and would fight and triumph over the creature. They’d save the world one more time. It was what they knew, what they were good at. He had faith that they’d win.

Castiel lifted a report compiled for him by Clotho and glanced over it, the sensation of beginning to drown in the task he’d signed up for increasing. 

The creature wasn’t limiting himself to humans, devouring monsters and their souls whenever he caught wind of one. That’s what this list was, the creatures that had gotten in his way. Seven vampires, two werewolves, a Gorgon, and more. Demons even and why not? They were simply corrupted souls and if he caught one in a body, it’d be a two for one special in his eyes, a bonus soul twined inside with a human.

Castiel’s eyes widened as he finished reading what had occurred. He dropped the report. Leaning over, he put his head in his hands.

A big boss demon named Agares had attempted to fight the Soul Stealer in Illinois and failed. Castiel knew Agares. He was powerful and should have made some impact, yet the creature had drunk down both Agares and the small army he’d taken with him before turning to the townspeople. It had been a massacre, the bodies discovered that morning. There was no way Castiel could keep Sam and Dean from noticing the demonic omens and finding out about an entire town. If they didn’t see the reports, other hunters would call them in on it anyway. 

With a long steadying breath, he sat up and back.

Let them look. Let them try. They’d be missing the pieces they needed until the time was right for them to find them and face the creature.

He felt a very real, very hard pang of regret knot in his stomach. This wasn’t the path he wanted to be on, but it was the only one he could walk at present. He’d just have to make the best of it.


	30. Chapter 30

One day and a half. One freakin’ day and a half was all Dean got to relax with his son. There was something tragic about that, he decided. Other men got days and days, but him? One damn day before all hell tried to break loose in one way or another.

He strapped Jack to his chest in the baby backpack. Jo had laughed when he bought it, but it had come in handy and Jack loved it. He’d splay out his little arms like he was trying to hug Dean. He checked his phone, slipped it back in his pocket, then grabbed the diaper bag, shouldered it, locked the Impala, and walked up to the driver’s side of Ellen’s car.

He’d known it had to be Ellen’s car just like he’d known she and Jo weren’t at a spa. Didn’t it just figure?

Dean bent, putting his face right in front of the binoculars before Ellen realized he was even there. “What the hell are you two doing here,” he asked. “Spa my ass.”

Both Jo and Ellen screeched, Ellen dropping the binoculars.

“Dean!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You just shaved ten years off me.”

Jo gave him a weak wave and even weaker smile. “Hi honey.”

He smiled and nodded at her. “Not a job, Jo?”

“It’s _not_ a job. We’re making sure Bobby’s okay. What are you doing here?”

“Besides saving time for when Bobby calls next wanting me to bring him another meal?” Opening the back door, he climbed in behind Ellen. “He’s muttering about needing help from a pretty young woman who could distract the creepy orderly who won’t leave him alone so he can get an investigation started. In other words, he sent me to find you and I found you.”

Jo took out her phone and looked at the settings. “You used my phone to find us, didn’t you?”

“That would be telling.”

“You suck.”

“Might I point out that you weren’t actually at a spa? Not to mention, I saw this car yesterday before you drove off.”

“Why didn’t he call _me_ ,” Ellen asked, turning in the seat to look at him. The fact that Bobby hadn’t called her had hurt her feelings, Dean could see it.

“Something about hurting his pride.” At least, that’s what he’d read between the lines of the things Bobby had said. Dean removed a folder from the diaper bag and handed it over the seat to Jo. “Here. Your résumé and a letter of recommendation. I tweaked it a little for the profession and talked to Rufus earlier. He’ll tell them you were the best worker they had and he was sorry to see you leave. He’ll talk you up. I brought your scrubs in case you need them. They’re in the car.”

She took the papers, perused them, and glanced at him. “You’re sending me in to get a position and do all the snooping Bobby can’t do from where he is because of the orderly?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” She bent over, took a brush and small makeup bag from the bag on the floor. In minutes, she was ready. “Wish me luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Kerry had blue streaks in her blond hair, Katie had green streaks in her red curls, and Kathy had both blue and green streaks. Their barrettes had tiny shells on them. Gwen wondered if they really liked shells or if it was just something they put on without thinking about it.

“You girls going swimming? Looks like fun.” Gwen kicked off her flip-flops and took off the sundress she was using to cover her swimsuit, letting it drop onto the thin string-handled backpack she’d brought to hold their water and sunscreen. Sam was already in the water, his clothes a jumble on the sand.

“No,” Kathy said with a smile and shake of her head. “We’re not swimming. We’re not ready to go in the water. Maybe later in the week.”

“We could watch your things,” Katie suggested, head tilting a little to one side. She seemed to be the friendliest of the three.

“It’s no trouble,” Kerry assured her.

“You don’t need to.” Gwen sprayed sunscreen on.

“We’re here and we’re not swimming. We might as well be useful.” Kathy sat down and stretched her legs out.

“You’re the only ones who will even talk to us,” Katie confided, taking up position on the other side of their clothes. “It’s like we’re invisible to all the other people here.”

“People have no manners.” Kerry’s tone was prim and she pointed to the far side of the beach. “Look at that. That chick is totally topless.”

All three turned to look.

Gwen smiled and headed for the water. For all of her travels, she’d never gone swimming in the ocean before. From Sam’s reaction, neither had he. It was fun and completely worth it as they played in the water. All too soon, their time was up.

As they approached their pile of clothes, and the three girls, Gwen caught a snippet of their conversation. Their heads were close together.

“She reminds me of Atlacamani, only prettier.” Kathy leaned closer to them.

“Don’t let _her_ hear you say that. Personally, I think she’s more like Cymopoleia. Loyal and pretty. You can see it. She’s loyal to her own.” Katie tucked her long hair behind her ears.

“What about him,” Kerry asked.

Kathy giggled. “I immediately thought Tlaloc.”

‘Tlaloc’ Sam mouthed at her, brows raising. Gwen shrugged.

“Eww,” Katie breathed. “He’s such a self-centered jerk!”

“A hot jerk,” Kathy corrected.

“I think he’s like Chalchiuhtlatonal. He’s gorgeous and _real_ , you know?” It sounded like Katie had a crush on whoever that was.

Where had Gwen heard the name Tlaloc before? Were they role playing or something? She couldn’t place the name, however.

They looked up as Sam and Gwen reached for their clothes and began dressing. “Hi Gwen.” They smiled. “Hi Sam.”

“Hi.” He slipped his shirt on, checked his shorts pocket for his wallet, and gestured towards the long flight of steps to the top of the cliff. “I’m gonna start towards the stairs.”

“Thanks for watching our things.” Gwen checked the backpack. It still had everything in it. The three girls didn’t seem interested in stealing anything, only in talking. They talked constantly. They’d shown up in the path to the ruins, though Gwen didn’t remember seeing them at the halfway stop the bus had made on the way to the ruins. Maybe they hadn’t left their bus at the stop? Some people hadn’t.

“It was our pleasure.” Kathy, then Katie and Kerry got to their feet. “Well, we need to find our bus. Later!”

The three girls ran to the stairs, brushing past Sam and hurrying up them. Gwen and Sam followed at a much slower pace, taking time to wash at the restrooms before going to the buses.

By the time they reached their bus, Gwen thought she was dying of thirst and heat. How their guide and bus driver were wearing long sleeves was beyond her. “Man, I’m thirsty.” She sat down in the seat she’d had on the way out there and adjusted the air conditioning above her onto her face. The air was barely cool, but it was something.

“I’ll see what the driver has in the cooler.”

It was Mexican beer, but right then, Gwen didn’t care. She was okay with it. It was wet and she was thirsty. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Joanna?”

Jo glanced up from the papers she was supposed to be working on. It was a good thing she’d done this sort of work a few times in the past and knew what she could skimp on in order to get to her investigation. “Yeah, Charlie?” She tried to keep the weariness from her voice, but frankly, the guy was driving her nuts. She’d been there three days, yet she couldn’t wait to figure out what was going on and go home. Getting access to records had taken more time than Jo had liked to take. She’d hoped to get in and get back out before anyone began to get suspicious.

“You need a ride home tonight?”

There was something disturbing in the way he kept wanting to give her a ride home. Bobby called Charlie the ‘creepy orderly’ and with good reason. He _was_ creepy. He’d stand too close and stare too long, looking at her like it was only a matter of time before she gave in and went home with him. “My husband is picking me up. You know that.”

A spasm of dislike crossed his face, though she didn’t think he’d connected the car that was waiting for her with Dean, who came in to see Bobby during the day and update him on the little progress they’d made. “If you were _my_ wife, I’d come to the door and wait for you.”

“We have a baby, Charlie. He stays in the car with him. It’s okay. He can see the door from the parking place.” She shifted closer to the desk, clamping her knees tighter together as she felt the files she had on her lap start to slide. “Not like anything will happen in the few feet to the car, right?”

“Just sayin’.” He crossed his arms on the ledge where the sign-in sheet was. “If he doesn’t show, can I take you home?”

He obviously meant his home. Jo shook her head. “I’m a married woman.”

“Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“You sure about that?”

“Very.”

“Don’t you need some excitement? Can’t be very exciting at home with a baby and husband. I’d be willing to spice up your life a little. Just call him and tell him you’re working late. It’s not a stretch, really. I’m sure there’s enough paperwork to say that.”

“Oh, I get plenty of excitement.”

“Yeah? How?”

“You’d never believe me if I told you.”

He snorted and glanced towards the entrance. “That guy doesn’t deserve you, Joanna.”

Definitely creepy. “Don’t you have rounds?” When he’d gone, she texted Dean.

‘B careful. Charlie giving veiled threats about u not picking me up tonight.’

‘Pipsqueek.’

‘He’s ur size.’ He had Dean’s height, but not his build. Charlie was more of a wiry sort of frame, whereas Dean was all solid.

‘U b careful 2,’ he replied.

She finished photographing the file, replaced it with another, and managed to finish that task in relative peace before Charlie came back.

He jerked a thumb towards the hall. “Singer down in one-oh-seven is asking for you. Told me to get my ass out of his room and send the cute blond down there.”

What had he been doing in Bobby’s room?

April, one of the other night staff, came from the opposite side of the facility and entered the office. “Don’t know how you deal with that Singer guy, Joanna. He’s a pain in the ass.” Plopping into one chair, she ran a hand through her short, dark hair. “Ornery.”

“He’s not so bad. He’s sort of like my dad.” If only they knew.

She snorted. “No wonder you can handle him.”

“I’d better go see what he wants.” Jo made her way down the hall, conscious of Charlie watching her rear until she turned the corner. When Dean leered at her like that, it was exciting. When Charlie did it, she became nauseated and it wasn’t because Charlie wasn’t good-looking. He was. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a nice smile. It was because of the sort of guy he was. At Bobby’s room, she let out a relieved sigh and went inside. “You called.” The door thumped shut behind her.

“Don’t be flippant. What’ve you got on the creepy weird orderly?”

“Dean’s doing background. So far there’s nothing out of the ordinary, but I think April has some gossip on him. She’s been hinting the past two days. Acts like she wants to be buddies.”

“Focus on him. He just tried to give me another pillow.”

“We do that all the time.”

“He had it awfully close to my face.”

“Isn’t that where pillows go? The head?” Charlie had been on shift for each death however, and to hear April tell it, each one of the people had given him a hard time one way or another.

“Not that way smartass.”

“I’m on it,” she assured him.

“Well hurry up. I’d like to not get smothered in my sleep.”

Jo saluted him and returned to the office.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ship was swaying when Sam woke at six.

Not just any sort of swaying, but the sort that made him feel like his stomach was trying to crawl up his throat. He moaned and put a hand over his mouth.

Gwen tossed the covers off and went to her case, digging through it until she made a satisfied noise and pulled out a box. She looked faintly green in the light she turned on, a hand pressing to her stomach as she turned, box in hand. “Want some Dramamine? I brought plenty just in case.”

“I think I’d better.” He sat up and took the pill she handed him, swallowing it dry and lying back down until it began to take effect. It didn’t take very long before the queasiness was under control and he could think about breakfast. “How much time do we have before our excursion?”

She picked up his watch. “A couple hours. We have to be down on the pier at eight.”

“Perfect.” 

Gwen opened the balcony door and stepped out only to step back in a minute later. She let the door shut with a bang. “That guy is smoking again. I swear, he waits until he hears us out there, then hurries out to smoke.”

It certainly seemed like it. Not once had they gotten to spend time out there without the guy in the room next door coming out to smoke. Sam reached for his clothes. He didn’t bother shaving, though it was driving him nuts not to shave. Gwen wanted him to grow a beard this week, so he was. He planned to shave it off the last day before they got anywhere near home. He knew he’d have to hear enough ‘mountain man’ references from Dean just over the pictures. No sense in having them over showing up back home like that too.

They’d planned out their excursion fairly well, he thought. Today they were going down in a submarine and upon returning, they’d have all afternoon to browse the shops and find some really hideous souvenirs to take back for everyone. He planned to find a garish, eyeball-bleed inducing t-shirt for Dean to pay him back for all the times he’d bought Sam hideous clothes and made him wear them. He was pretty sure he could get Jo to make sure Dean wore it in public at least once.

The day went well. While it wasn’t sunny, it didn’t rain either, the temperature soaring in the afternoon, making the air muggy and uncomfortable. They cut shopping short because of that, choosing to go back to the ship, have some ice cream, then swim until time for dinner. They had the pools to themselves, a thing that hadn’t happened until now on this cruise. The dining room was nearly deserted as well, their table mates gone along with most of the rest of the passengers.

It was nice.

He and Gwen had plenty of private time to talk about the gifts they’d bought for everyone and what they wanted to share about the trip so far. Dean would like a cruise, he decided as Gwen’s second dessert arrived. He’d love trying the food and watching the women in tiny bikinis. Jo would like a cruise, too. He could see her pointing out women to Dean while eyeing some of the men herself. Of course, he could see both of them getting in serious trouble in the casino as well.

“You think we could get Jo and Dean to come on one of these with us?”

Gwen slid her empty plate away. “Maybe if Dean could drive to the port, yeah.”

“We could arrange that.”

After dinner, they watched people returning to the ship right at the time they were supposed to leave port. When that got boring, they adjourned to the long lounge area that went halfway along one deck. They found a half-circle couch at the mid-point of the lounge by the casino entrance and sat to observe the people, drinks in hand. All they wanted to do was relax for awhile.

Those three teenage girls -- Kathy, Katie, and Kerry -- had a different idea.

They appeared in the doorway, hurried towards them, and plopped down on the couch beside them like they were all best buddies: Kathy by Sam and Katie and Kerry by Gwen. They were wearing loose short sleeveless dresses in shades of green that had pearls dotting the necklines.

“Are you staying for the ‘Thriller’ dance tutorial?” Kathy drew her legs up, curling up beside Sam, her bare arm brushing his. 

Her skin was cold, causing a ripple of goose bumps on his arm. Weird. “We were thinking about heading back to our room.” He tightened his arm around Gwen’s shoulders. While he didn’t mind talking to the three girls and answering their questions, the constant looking at both he and Gwen like they were royalty deigning to visit the common man was a little unnerving. He was even beginning to think that Katie had a crush on Gwen. She kept touching her arm or hand and he was surprised Gwen hadn’t snapped at her to keep her mitts to herself.

All three groaned in protest.

“But it’ll be fun,” Katie said.

Sam suppressed a hiss at the cold touch of her arm against his, flinching just a fraction. It wasn’t that cold in here, so why was her skin icy? He took a long drink from his glass, the warmth of the alcohol combating that coldness.

“Please stay,” Kerry coaxed with a pleading expression in her eyes and a touch of her fingers to Gwen’s arm.

Gwen quirked a brow and looked at him. He could hear the resignation in her voice. “It starts in twenty. We’re already here.” Her thumb swept across his thigh. “We could stay for some of it I guess, then just sleep in a little more tomorrow.”

Except they wouldn’t sleep in. They’d both be awake before seven. Putting his mouth close to her ear he said, “But we were gonna try the thing with the thing.” He didn’t say it right out since he wasn’t sure what anyone could hear. “And then the other thing.”

She laughed. “We can still do that, you know. It’ll be a half hour later maybe.”

“A half hour can feel like an eternity.”

Gwen leaned closer, her mouth to his ear, breath tickling and voice playful. “Are you all hot for me, Sam?”

“You know it.” Still, he sighed. “Okay.” He sat back and raised his voice. “I guess we’re staying.”

The girls let out a squeeing noise, then giggled. They giggled so much that he sometimes wondered if they were sneaking cocktails. To his further surprise, they got Gwen out on the floor with them. She held on to her drink despite being told by the dancer to put it down.

Sam took pictures. Otherwise, Dean and Jo would never believe this.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the office, Jo poured herself a cup of coffee, doctored it, and carried it to the desk. “What’s Charlie’s deal?” Jo sipped at the cup.

April turned her chair in a circle over and over. “He got attacked a couple months ago. It was real bad, too. Changed him.”

“How so?” Jo reached for a stack of papers and laid them in front of her, pen in hand.

“Well….” She stopped turning the chair and scooted it closer, casting a glance towards the window, then door. “You know how some people go all quiet and withdraw after a trauma?”

Jo nodded.

“Not him. He went the opposite way, from mild-mannered genuine sweetie, to --”

“Wait, what? Him? Sweet?” The description didn’t match him at all. “Are we talking the same guy here? He’s a jerk.” Was he possessed? As April went on, Jo began to consider it a real possibility.

“Oh yeah. He was a real catch. Sort of shy, too. But he got attacked and came back colder, sort of calculating even and aggressive, like he figures he has nothing to lose.”

“Was he attacked here?”

“No, no.” April shook her head. “He was in Denver and got jumped by some crazy.”

“When did you say this was?”

“A couple months ago. Maybe three.” She thought a minute. “He even stopped going to mass and let me tell you, that boy was devout. He had to go every morning before he’d come to work.”

“Did he?”

April nodded. “God’s honest truth.” She made an ‘x’ motion over her heart.

“And he was working when the deaths happened?”

“Sure was. I wouldn’t accuse him of killing them, but he was here and he had opportunity and motive.”

“Why didn’t the police question him if there’s evidence? Why aren’t they here investigating?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. I think he may have doctored the files or something.”

Jo made a mental note to go back over the files she’d copied and discuss the idea that Charlie was possessed with Bobby before leaving for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

They couldn’t get away from those three girls.

“I swear, they’re like the Witches of Eastwick,” Gwen muttered, tugging Sam into the casino to cut across the floor and reach the exit before Kathy, Katie, and Kerry could see them. As she walked, she planned a strategy of how to reach their room the fastest way possible. They’d go up onto the next deck, then cut across the pool area to the elevator and take it one floor, then take the stairs the second flight up.

“The what of what?”

“The Witches of Eastwick. Redhead, blond, brunette? Cher, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Susan Sarandon?”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Dean’s a Nicholson fan and you’ve never seen that? Remind me to educate you when we get back before he learns of your blasphemy.” Gwen blinked at the bright sunlight as they stepped outside and gasped from the wet heat that blanketed the area. She realized it had been her idea to take a cruise here in September and took full blame for the weather they’d been suffering through. Off to the front of the ship, right where they were headed, she could see what looked like a wall of mist coming right at them. Already, she’d learned that that wasn’t mist, it was a storm. In minutes, the sun would be gone and it was going to be pouring rain.

While they’d missed the hurricane that had been coming towards them, a tropical storm was right behind it.

Sam took the lead now, pulling her along with him across the space. “They’re more like Cas, popping up out of nowhere. How do they do that? Are we really the only ones who’ll talk to them?”

“I don’t know, but they’re driving me nuts. I swear, if Katie strokes my arm one more time, I’m decking her, I don’t care if she’s only a teenager. You don’t go around touching people like that. It’s creepy.”

“I touch you like that.”

“You’re my husband. Slight difference between you there. And how in the hell can they be cold all the time? Answer me that. It’s like they’re carrying ice cubes in their hands.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone with colder hands than theirs.”

It was almost like an electrical shock when the girls touched them.

They managed to reach their room before the three caught up with them.

Gwen heaved a long sigh of relief and reached for the Dramamine. It was time for another dose.

~~~~~~~~~~

Charlie’s voice was faint, but lecherous. “You’re a kinky girl, Joanna. I like that in a woman.”

“Just go in. We have to hurry.”

“However you want it, baby. That’s what I’m here for.” He came through the shed door and Dean grabbed him.

“Man, let go of me! Get off me!” Charlie twisted in Dean’s grip, but Dean got him tied fairly quickly, the younger man no match for Dean’s experience in this matter. “What the hell is going on, Joanna?”

He’d hated that Jo’s plan had called for her to make up to the guy like she wanted him after all, but he had to admit she was right about how easily Charlie would follow her into a dark building with the lure of sex. Dean had broken into the gardener’s shed and gotten it ready for this, setting up a chair and rope. Bobby was still inside the building, waiting for the results of this interrogation and Ellen was taking care of Jack. 

Jo splashed holy water on Charlie, who coughed and spit. There was no sizzle of flesh, nor did he flash black eyes or any other color of eyes. Interesting. The holy water should have gotten a reaction.

He began to recite Latin, walking around Charlie, searching for any response.

Charlie twisted in the ropes. “What is wrong with you people?”

Dean stopped, glancing over at Jo. “Something’s not right.”

“Yeah, you two freaks,” Charlie snapped.

With a shake of his head, Dean continued the Latin, but it did no good. Neither did the salt or holy water, and Jo took several steps backwards.

Her eyes were wide and lips parted. “Oh, God no.”

Dean stretched out a hand, touching her arm. “Jo? What’s wrong, honey?”

“I made a mistake.” She was upset, breaths beginning to hitch like she was on the verge of sobbing. “I made a freakin’ mistake, Dean.” Putting her hands on her hips, she looked at Charlie, then turned away so she couldn’t see him. “But how? Everything April told me pointed to possession. The personality change, the aversion to mass when he was a good Catholic before, the attack…. Sometimes demons attack the new host, rough them up, terrorize them before jumping inside --”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

“Good Catholic,” Charlie scoffed. “I haven’t been to mass since I was fifteen.” He hopped the chair to the edge of the Devil’s trap and slightly beyond it.

“No, it’s not okay!”

He grasped her arms, gently caressing. “We all make that mistake.” God knew he’d done it more than once.

“Not me. Not anymore. I studied them after Sam so I wouldn’t, so I’d know.” She bit her lip and looked away.

“You couldn’t have known back then.”

“But I should know now and I didn’t.”

“Is she gonna cry,” Charlie asked in a scornful tone. He quit trying to move the chair.

“Shut it,” Dean told him, smacking him lightly on the temple with one hand. “What exactly did April tell you, Jo?”

“Yeah, what did that whore tell you,” Charlie interjected. “You know gossip is a sin, right?”

“I told you to shut it.” 

“So is murder,” Jo snapped right back, moving closer to him, “and I know you murdered those four people.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Really?” He relaxed back in the chair. “You got proof, Joanna?”

“Yeah, I do, Charlie.”

“Then why aren’t the cops here? Why is just you two?”

“You ever think maybe we are the cops, dumbass?” Dean turned to face him.

Charlie slowly shook his head. “You’re not cops, not with all the demon talk she just did.”

“Then what are we, if you’re so smart?”

“Whack jobs.” He studied them. “You people are whack jobs. You may be hot, Joanna, but I don’t do crazy and I certainly didn’t kill anyone. Did I think about it? Yeah. Hell, I fantasized about offing that bitch Shirley in one-eleven for four years before she died. Don’t you think I would’ve done it a lot earlier if I was a serious killer? I mean who doesn’t occasionally imagine killing the people who annoy you most? Fantasizing isn’t doing.”

“You were on duty, Charlie. I checked the records. You’d had recent altercations with each of the victims --”

“So had April. She was on duty. Gina was there too. They were both in the building.”

“You were attacked in Denver.”

“Which has to do with what? April and Gina were attacked too. We were all beaten bloody on a busy street while people just stood and watched.”

Jo held up her hands. “Wait a minute. April said you were alone.”

“Psychotic bitch is lying. We were torn up, though you wouldn’t know it to look at them. I’m the one got the scars. See the one on my neck?” He leaned his head back. “I was an inch away from dying.” 

Charlie did have a thin scar on his neck. Dean could see it clearly once he looked for it.

“Look,” Charlie shook his head, “if anyone came back acting different, it was those two.”

“Different how?” Dean glanced in the direction of the building. April was still in the building and he’d seen Gina go in earlier. If what Charlie was saying was true….

“You want a list?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Why not?” He rolled his eyes. “For starters on weirdness, they gave up salt okay? Who does that except health nuts of which neither of them are. Then they freaked out over my tattoo, which was really bizarre considering April went with me to get it and she’s the freakin’ tattoo wonder girl with tats covering her ass.”

“What tattoo?” Jo looked him over. “Where?”

“It’s just below the base of my neck.”

Dean and Jo moved behind him, Jo tugging down the neckline of his shirt. There, in black ink, was a protection symbol, the same one Dean and Sam had. It was also the same one Gwen had, though Dean took Sam’s word for it, and that Jo wore in various pieces of jewelry.

“He’s protected against demons,” Jo whispered. “That’s the same one you have.”

“Wait, you think I’m a demon?” Charlie laughed. “Oh, I cannot believe this. You’re buckets of crazy.”

“Where’d you get the design,” Dean asked, moving back around to face Charlie.

Charlie stopped laughing, glanced back and forth between them, and cleared his throat. “Off the cover of a book. It looked cool.”

“Let me guess. A book series called ‘Supernatural’? About two brothers?”

“I don’t know. I forgot the story as soon as I finished it. The writing was crap, but I got it for a quarter at a garage sale, so all in all it was a good deal.”

Charlie wasn’t possessed. He couldn’t be. So if Charlie wasn’t possessed and it was April and Gina who’d come back from Denver acting strange…. Gina had called Bobby. April had fed Jo wrong information which meant that they were in the wrong place, with the wrong person, and Bobby was really in danger like Ellen had thought. “Jo, honey, you got the right conclusion and the wrong victim.”

“Son of a bitch.” She stomped a foot on the ground and started packing up the holy water and salt.

“Where was April when you brought him outside?”

“In the office.”

“Let’s go.”

“You gonna untie me?” Charlie struggled against the bonds.

“We’ll be back,” Dean promised. Quickly he gagged Charlie and followed Jo back towards the main building.


	31. Chapter 31

High heels tapped on the linoleum floor. Gina appeared in the doorway.

Bobby laid his suitcase on the bed.

“How’s the investigation coming?”

Opening his case, he laid a few shirts inside it. “It’s being wrapped up.”

“Good. Good.” She nodded. “So, your team has Charlie?”

“Interrogating him now. They should be coming in to give me a report any second.” He finished packing and picked up the holy water that had been in the bottom of his suitcase just in case he’d needed it. Bobby curled his hand tight around the bottle, thumb against the clasp holding it closed. It’d take just a second to pop it open. Gina took a few steps into the room and made a strangled gasp. He looked at her. She was halfway across the floor towards him, standing still, anger in her eyes. Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides. Bobby let a tiny, satisfied smile slip free for a bare second. “Something wrong…Gina?”

“You hunter bastard,” she replied in a sweet tone.

Sauntering to the light, he flipped it off to reveal the devil’s trap he’d been working on surreptitiously during the week. “You mean this?” His own tone was innocent. “Don’t you like my work anymore? You liked it ten years ago. Then again, you’re not really Gina, are you? I think this is the best trap I’ve drawn in a long time. Maybe even since Crowley.” He turned the light back on. “Thoughts on the matter? A colorful metaphor or two perhaps?”

Ellen had been right. A possessed Gina had almost had him before he’d realized what was going on. It had taken him a distressingly long time to figure it out, too, and yet Ellen had suspected from the beginning of that initial meeting.

Helluva gut instinct on those Harvelle women, he reflected. Ellen was going to be gloating for days. He might just have to foot the bill for a real spa trip to make it up to her for not believing her. Right now, he was rather glad she’d sat outside with Jo spying on the place. It had been convenient that Dean hadn’t had to go far to get them.

“Nice story you gave me. Even had me running in circles for awhile trying to put it all together.”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Correction. It had your team running around. Did you think we all don’t know what Dean Winchester looks like? And the convenient applicant. I remember hearing through the grapevine that Dean got himself hitched and then Sam followed suit. Where’s Sam and his bride right now? I mean, we’ve got Dean and his accounted for. Not to mention your pretty toy. What’s her name again? Ellen?” She put her hands on her hips. “And who’s baby did I spy Dean carrying all over my facility? Was that….” She drew in a breath, all excited glee. “Was that a future generation of Winchesters? I’ll have to spread that news around. Wonder how _that_ tidbit stayed a secret?”

“Touch that baby and any one of about twenty hunters will track you down, not to mention the angels that can obliterate your ugly ass with a single touch.”

“It’s news, Bobby. I can’t not share it.” Her eyes blinked to red and Bobby uncapped the holy water. That was news to him. He’d been expecting the standard black. Interesting. Crossroads demons generally didn’t travel far from their roads, yet she’d traveled to meet him that day and lure him here. Had it been her idea to bring him here or Crowley’s -- trying to tie up a loose end? 

“Can’t share it if you’re completely dead.” He closed the case and zipped it up. “So tell me: how’s your big boss these days?” Crowley was still claiming to be king of hell from what he’d heard and no one had been arguing the case. At least not that he’d heard. He supposed some of Lucifer’s disgruntled followers might be contesting it.

She licked her lips, a quick flick of her tongue. “He’s handing out new assignments.”

“Ain’t any crossroads close enough to this building for you to be working them.”

“Not today, no.” She smiled. “But there used to be. All buried down beneath that lawn out back. They never tore up the original road, just built over it. The progress of the modern age…or modern when this place was built. It may have been more dirt than anything, but it was still a road.”

Curious. “Why put you here?”

Her eyes switched back to blue and she shrugged. “It’s become prudent to make use of the old roads, the forgotten ones that do still exist. It’s the latest in assignments.” Gina paced the boundaries of the symbol, keeping her attention on him. “Desirable even.”

There couldn’t be many people who’d remember where the old roads were, so what had Crowley reassigning his crossroad demons to crossroads Siberia? “You must’ve pissed him off good to get this detail, sister. Can’t be a lot of action going on here. Not a ton of deals going down.”

“You’d be surprised at just how many deals do go down in places like this.” She laughed. “And I never pissed him off. I’m one of his best. This, as irksome as the location is, is for my protection.”

“Why is Crowley reassigning his demons to forgotten crossroads? What is he protecting you from?” A demon protecting other demons just seemed out of place. Was there a very real threat to Crowley’s little kingdom of hell? A threat so great that he was pulling his demons out of established assignments and hiding them away?

“He has his reasons and they’re none of your concern.”

“Answer me.”

“No.”

He sent an arc of holy water towards her and though she backed up, against the boundary of the symbol, it still splashed her. Her flesh sizzled, an angry scream leaving her. “Care to try that again?”

April appeared in the doorway, not stepping into the room. She grasped the doorframe with her hands. Her eyes went black. “Because _he_ has been picking us off, if you must know. That’s why he’s busily reassigning all those who’ll take his orders.” She snorted, her attention going to Gina. “For a high and mighty crossroads demon, you’re dumb as spit. I told you he was working on a trap, but oh no, you could handle him.” She shook her head, eyes going back to normal, scorn in them. “Should have listened to me.”

“Let me out.”

“Only if you take care of him this time, then do the Winchester brother. The nosy blond bitch is all mine. I have a score to settle with Jo from way back.” Crouching, she pulled a knife and scratched away the edge of the trap.

The lights in the building went out. Bobby heard the crash of glass breaking and an alarm began to screech. Strong hands grabbed him and he went flying, hitting the wall with such force that he forgot how to breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean winced as he tried to stand up straight. His lower back wasn’t cooperating and he pressed a hand to it. He was going to need a hot shower, pain pills, and Jo working for at least an hour on his back before standing up straight was possible. Why couldn’t things be simple and easy just once?

The facility was a mess and he’d realized somewhere in the middle of the fight that many of the residents were dead. They had to be. No way at least one of them wouldn’t have woken up and come to see what was going on. They hadn’t exactly been silent. Exorcising demons never was. They tended to try to kill you if you couldn’t get them contained in a trap first. Even then, some of them had enough power to reach out of a trap. 

He and Bobby stood over Gina’s body and Jo was across the cafeteria beside April’s body. Both women had been dead before being possessed. The exorcism hadn’t freed their souls because they’d already been gone. He wondered if they’d died in the middle of the attack Charlie had told them about or if that had happened on the way to the hospital. Charlie, jerk he was, had gotten lucky. He was both alive and unable to be possessed by a demon. The fact that the two demons in the women had been upset over his tattoo indicated that there’d been a third demon present. Where had that demon gone?

He gestured towards Gina’s body. “You got any more demonic ex-girlfriends running around?”

Bobby knelt and closed her eyes with two fingers. “She was a normal civilian when I met her.”

“They don’t stay normal for long around any of us, do they?”

“Never.”

A fresh spasm hit him and Dean forced himself to stand tall despite the pain. It took a good chunk of his willpower to do that. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“Dean?” Jo picked up her container of holy water. There was maybe an inch left. Capping it, she approached him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” She was one to ask. She had scratches on her forehead that were oozing blood and a swelling lump on her jaw from her fight with April. She was going to be a mess in the morning.

She gave him a quick once over. “Liar. It’s your back again, isn’t it? You can’t keep getting thrown against walls, sweetheart. I keep telling you that.”

“It wasn’t a wall, it was a desk.” The front desk in the office to be exact and it was pretty well destroyed.

Bobby staggered against a table as he got to his feet and grabbed onto the edge of it to steady himself.

“Same difference. We’ll have to swing by CVS, pick up some icy hot.”

He cleared his throat and jerked a thumb towards the doors to the outside. A good breeze was coming in where Dean had tossed April through them for the punch she’d landed on Jo. “We’d best get moving before the cops show.” He moved towards those doors.

“Can you drive with your back hurting?” She fell into step beside him.

“Let me grab my case,” Bobby said, heading towards the hallway in a gait that looked more like he was lurching than walking. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Of course I can drive.” Dean grimaced as another spasm attacked his back. “No sweat, Jo.”

“Bull.” She grabbed his arm to stop him and held out her hand. “Gimme the keys.”

“No.”

“Dean.”

“I can drive, Jo. Geez.”

“I drive to the motel or Bobby does.”

“He’s crouched over like the hunchback of Notre Dame. He’s not driving my car.”

“Check your own posture. You’re twins right now.”

He heard faint sirens in the distance and dug the keys from his pocket. If he kept arguing with her they’d all still be here when the cops showed up. “Fine, but if you scratch her --”

“When have I ever scratched her? I know what she means to you.”

Jo rarely drove the Impala, but he had to admit that the few times she had, she’d not done one thing that made Dean regret letting her drive.

As Jo pulled out of the parking lot a moment later, Bobby spoke up from the backseat. “What happened to that Charlie guy you took out back?”

Jo turned right into an alley, then made a left onto the next street, taking a circuitous route to the motel. She glanced at Dean. “He’s contemplating the sad direction his life has taken.”

“You left him tied up in the shed,” Bobby translated.

“Maybe next time he’ll think twice about propositioning the hot married coworker.” Her smile was barely visible. “Why don’t you call mom, Dean. Have her pack us all up and be ready to go when we get there?”

“Already on it,” he told her, holding the phone up to his ear. 

~~~~~~~~~~

They were ready for disembarkation. Gwen had done a triple check on the room and their suitcases had already been picked up. 

“I’m going to miss the beard,” she told him, watching him swipe a warm cloth along his jaw.

“Miss it all you like, it’s not returning if I have any say in it.”

Chuckling, she went to the balcony and carefully opened the door, stepping outside and holding the door so Sam could join her. He eased the door shut for her. It didn’t make a sound.

She smiled. Finally, a moment on their balcony without the smoker next door outside too. The rising sun against the water was beautiful, the air fresh and clean. She almost didn’t want to go home. Almost.

Sam put an arm around her. He didn’t make a sound, fingers touching her chin, tipping it up to kiss her. His lips touched hers…and the door slammed next door, followed quickly by the click of a lighter and the sound of a two (or more) pack a day smoker getting his early morning fix. No way that guy didn’t smoke two or more packs a day. As often as he was out there?

“Wow,” she whispered and leaned back. “Not once this entire cruise did we get to sit or even stand out here without a cloud of smoke.”

“It _is_ tragic,” Sam replied, reaching for the door and holding it open so she could go inside. “Maybe we should just get breakfast and wait on the upper deck.”

“Sounds good to me.”

With a last look around their room, and check of the small safe, they headed for the breakfast buffet. While she’d had fun these past days, she was ready to go home and go back to work. Not finding anything resembling a job on this trip had been a disappointment.

They ate, then went onto the deck. She set her carry-on bag down at her feet and crossed her arms, resting them on the railing. Sam copied her pose.

“Long way down,” he said.

Gwen stared down at the water, her gaze drawn there. It _was_ a long way down. “What do you think it’s like to drown? To sink into the water and feel your lungs filling up….” Where had that come from? She couldn’t stop thinking it however. The water slapping up against the ship was almost hypnotic. It’d be so easy to climb over the railing and let herself fall. The water would be cool, soaking her clothes, making them weights about her. Would the current drag her under? “Would it be cold?” She leaned over, raising on her tiptoes.

Sam drew in a sharp breath. From the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head like he was shaking off water. “It’d be terrible.”

His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. She couldn’t seem to pull herself from watching the water, blinking, lips parting. Her heart beat a bit faster.

“I’d rather go out fighting some monster and saving the world than to drown. Talk about bad ways to go.” A snort of laughter left him. “Shot down,” he warbled softly in a far better voice than Dean had for singing, “in a --”

“ -- blaze of glory,” she finished with him, the words kicking that weird malaise from her. She was only tired, Gwen decided, lowering back onto flat feet. It’d been a long week and she needed a vacation from their honeymoon. She tore her gaze from the water, smiling. “Bob Jovi.”

“It’s a decent song. Sort of fits, you know? Except the glory part. Dean sings it sometimes when he thinks no one’s listening. Usually in the shower.”

She turned from the railing and found Kathy, Katie, and Kerry behind them staring at them, their arms linked. No, that wasn’t creepy in the slightest. “Hi girls. Did you have fun this week?”

Kathy’s smile was almost rueful. “It was educational.” Right then, she seemed far older than her years.

Kerry tilted her head a little to one side. “We enjoyed meeting you.”

Katie glanced at her friends. Maybe they were sisters. They’d never said. “We’ve known a lot of people, but you’re both…unique. Different.”

“We respect different.” Kathy unlinked her arm from Kerry’s.

All three seemed older right then.

Sam lifted the camera. “Last picture before we disembark?”

They sighed, smiled, and nodded.

“Why not?” Katie put her arms around Kerry and Kathy’s shoulders. The three looked innocent and angelic in their light green dresses and long hair.

“We’ll remember you.” The way Kerry said it gave Gwen the sudden idea that they’d be on the lookout for them in the future. It made her uncomfortable, though she wasn’t sure exactly why. She just knew that she didn’t really want to see these three girls again.

“I doubt we’ll forget any of you,” she replied.

A number was called over the PA system and Sam bent, picking up their carry-on bags. “That’s us.” He handed Gwen’s to her.

“Have a good trip back to South Dakota.” Kathy stepped to one side. Kerry stepped to the other, parting their line, and Katie backed up, then followed Kerry, giving Sam and Gwen a straight line towards the stairs.

“Thanks. Have a good trip home yourselves.” They’d never said where exactly they were from, only vague references to the area and islands.

“We always do.” Kathy joined Katie and Kerry.

Smiling wider, the three said something together in a language that Gwen didn’t recall having heard before. It was lyrical and pretty.

“What’s that mean,” Sam asked, shouldering his bag.

Katie shrugged. “May the gods and goddesses shine their favor upon you on your journey.”

Kathy, Katie, and Kerry put their hands in prayer position.

“Okay.” Gwen nodded, fully ready to get away from the three and finally be on dry land again. “We’d better go or we won’t make our flight.”

At a last glance, the three were still standing on the deck, watching them.

Gwen reached for Sam’s hand, linking her fingers with his, and was relieved when they were lost in the crowd of people leaving the ship. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The three girls stayed on the deck until it was deserted, the passengers gone and the crew occupied elsewhere.

“Well, that was a waste of a weeks hunt,” Kerry said, braiding her hair into a long thick plait. “That’s the last time we let you pick the marks, Katie.”

“I had fun anyway,” Katie replied, also braiding her hair. “They were a nice couple and it’s not often we’re beaten in our own territory.”

“They certainly were a challenge.” Kathy walked beside the railing, one hand trailing along it. “I’d been looking forward to drowning them. I really wanted to carry them down with us and thought we had them there at the end, too. I must be losing my touch.”

“Win some, lose some,” Kerry sighed.

“It’s been a long time since we went up against anyone strong-willed like that.” Katie smiled. Sam’s strength of will had been the most she’d felt from a human in a very long time, but Gwen hadn’t exactly been without strength of will. Several times during the days she’d resisted them. The closest they’d come to taking over her will had been during that dance tutorial, but she’d combated it with alcohol. Mild alcoholic intake dulled receptivity to their touch in a small percentage of humans. Gwen, and apparently Sam as well, had been that small percentage. “His strength became her strength. As it should be.” A husband _should_ be there for his wife, giving her strength and support when her own strength flagged. 

“You admire them for that,” Kathy asked, as though admiring a human, two humans, was unthinkable.

“Don’t you?” Katie couldn’t not admire them.

Kerry snorted. “It’s bad for business. Let’s go. We’ll try one of the islands this time.”

They climbed over the railing and dove into the water. 

Katie let her sisters swim ahead a ways, then surfaced. She spoke a few words in her native tongue, then repeated them in English. “Sam and Gwen, my blessing upon you both.” It wasn’t often mortals resisted them, perhaps three or four in a century. Few had the ability and those who did received a very rare and special gift: a mermaid’s blessing. Her sisters may have forgotten that old custom, but Katie hadn’t. She blessed the two who’d met them and hadn’t succumbed to a watery death, the magic of her blessing flowing forth towards the shore in a shimmering light only she could see. 

Something good would come to Sam and Gwen. What that good was, Katie didn’t know. It was up to the gods and goddesses to decide.

She joined her sisters and with a flick of their tails, the mermaids left the harbor for the open sea. 

~~~~~~~~~~

While Jo had been ready for the questions about what had happened to her face, she hadn’t been ready for Gwen’s demand to check over each scratch before they’d left the airport. Gwen dragged her into the restroom.

“Gwen, I’m fine. It was an accident. I fell off the training ropes trying to beat my time through the course.”

“Of course you did.” She poked at one still very raw, aching cut with a finger. “Did you put antibiotic cream on this?”

“Yes.”

“I still think this bruise on your jaw looks like someone slugged you.”

“I fell hard, okay? Can we go home already?”

Lips pursed, Gwen studied each cut until she finally nodded. “I guess they’re not bad, they just look bad.”

“What I said.”

Back at the house, Jo held Jack while Dean, Sam, and Gwen unpacked the car and when they were all inside, she said, “I assume you have pictures.”

Gwen and Sam looked at each other. “A few,” Sam replied in a cautious tone.

Dean slapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Whip them out. I’ll make popcorn.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Loose picture #1:

“Ahh, the happy newlyweds,” Jo cooed, though they weren’t exactly newly wed.

The picture was of them on formal night, the only picture they said they’d bought. Gwen was in her tiny black dress and Sam in his suit, facing each other with goofy grins.

“The drunk newlyweds,” Dean corrected, pointing a finger at the image, “because that is _so_ Sam’s shit-faced look.”

Jo peered closer at the picture. He was right. That was Gwen’s totally soused grin. “Oh. Yeah. I see it now.”

“We hadn’t had that much,” Sam protested.

Gwen reached up from her place on the floor and patted his knee. “Yeah, we had. We were totally blitzed.” She continued to unpack gifts and purchases in bags and boxes. “I have no excuse for the excess drinking except I was on a freakin’ vacation. Honeymoon at that. Not to mention the cocktails were like candy.”

Dean perked up at that. He had the sort of sweet tooth that meant Jo didn’t keep much candy in the house or he ate it all. “Like candy?”

“There were all kinds of beer, too. Any kind of drink you could possibly want. They even had some of the ale Gwen drinks on board, though she usually got the mixed drinks.” Sam reached for one of the bags and tossed it at Dean. “Got you something.”

Opening the bag, Dean pulled out a t-shirt in colors so bright that Jo squinted. “You go color blind, dude? This thing is hideous.”

“It is, isn’t it? Remember the pink flowered shirt, Dean,” he said with a devious little smirk. “I said I’d find you something just as bad some day.”

“I’m not wearing this.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Can’t make me.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Ten.”

“You want to give me that ten now or later?”

Dean tossed the shirt over his shoulder. It sailed over the couch and landed in the middle of the floor. “I’m not giving you ten bucks because I’m not wearing it. Where’re the rest of the pictures?”

Sam laid the iPad on the table. “Right here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Pictures #24, 25, 26, 27, 28:

“Explain,” Dean demanded, taking Jack from Jo and bouncing him lightly on his knee. Jack laughed in delight.

Jo decided she must’ve done a decent job on his back since he wasn’t wincing in the slightest at the action.

Sam was splayed out in a deck chair asleep, his chest bare and a magazine open on it. His shirt was more off than on. On the deck chair beside him were three teenage girls, mouths open and eyes wide with what Jo realized was adoration.

“Sam’s fan club.” Gwen was the one who explained. “Those three girls had absolutely no parental supervision whatsoever. They followed us around, figured out our schedule --”

“What we had of one,” Sam added. “It was freaky how they did that. They’d just appear out of nowhere, like Cas does. Followed us to breakfast, showed up in line behind us at lunch, sat by the pool when we swam….”

“Tried to get Sam to go up for the best pecs contest. Yeah…they were totally crushing on Sam.”

He snorted. “I think the little one, Katie, had a crush on _you_ , not me. You’re the one she kept touching all the time.”

“You had some girl touching you?” Dean stopped bouncing Jack. “And you didn’t slug her?”

“She was only a teenager and it was just my arm and hand.” Gwen’s answer was distracted as she opened one box, looked into it and frowned. “I don’t remember buying this.”

On the deck beside Sam was a row of empty glasses with tiny umbrellas in them.

Jo turned a speculative glance his way.

“What,” he asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

Gwen held out a package. “Here, Jo. I saw this in Jamaica and thought you’d like it.”

Inside the bag was a pretty light cotton blouse with embroidery all over it.

Reaching out, Dean put a hand under the fabric. “It’s sheer. I like it. I’ll like it more if you wear it with nothing underneath.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Sam snagged another bag and took out a small shirt, holding it up to Jack. “This is for Jack. We’ve got one from each port.”

The shirt was too big, but he’d grow into it. Jo was pleased that they’d bought Jack gifts, too. Sam had embraced being an uncle.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pictures #115-390:

The scenery was beautiful, the sky and water blue, the ruins even pretty. Jo was starting to want to go on a cruise now. She’d never wanted to before, but after looking at Bobby and Jodie’s pictures and these, it looked like fun.

Dean scrolled to the next picture.

In it, Gwen and Sam flanked a very short man. They were holding beer bottles. Gwen was dressed very un-Gwen-like in a short loose sundress, the straps of her bikini top visible on her shoulders and Sam…. Not Sam’s usual look. He had on baggy shorts, had neglected to button his shirt most of the way, and what was buttoned was done up wrong.

The second of those shots made it clear why. Both he and Gwen had that tipsy look on their faces again.

“That was our bus driver,” Gwen explained. “All he had in his cooler was Mexican beer, but after being in the heat for a couple hours, it was pretty good.”

“She sucked down three in a row on an empty stomach.”

“I was thirsty and it was all there was. Besides, you’re one to talk. You had two and sang dirty Mexican drinking songs with the guide at the back of the bus all the way back.”

“You started it.”

“Sam sang drinking songs?” Dean cast an amused glance at Sam, then at Gwen. “Tell me you got video.” He began to bounce Jack again, who let out a screeching giggle.

“Didn’t think to, no.”

“Man, you must have been completely tanked.” Dean’s expression indicated he wished he could have seen it. “I don’t think you’ve ever sung drinking songs.”

“I know a few.”

“Prove it. Jo, go get a bottle of whiskey.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored the request. “So, this was the ruins at Tulum?” Jo went back a few pictures. The view from the cliff down onto the beach was beautiful.

“Yeah.” Gwen abandoned the case of souvenirs and moved closer, leaning against Sam’s leg. “I was surprised that not a lot of people went on the tour. Out of the entire ship there were only two buses.”

“Those girls showed up there, too,” Sam said, shaking his head. “They didn’t swim and I think they were talking about us when we walked up to get dressed.”

“What was that name they said?” Gwen frowned. “Began with a ‘t’? I know it from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it then.”

“I don’t know. It sounded made up.”

“No, I’ve heard it before…. Wish I could remember from where. I think I wrote it down somewhere to look up later.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Picture #392:

Gwen was in a deck chair, a drink in either hand. One drink had fruit on a stick in it, the other had a tiny umbrella. She had on a big straw had, her large round sunglasses were askew, and a tipsy grin was on her lips.

“I couldn’t decide which drink I wanted --”

“So I got her both.”

“They were mighty tasty.”

“How many times did you get her both drinks?” Dean stared at him.

“Why,” Sam asked with a frown.

“Just curious.”

His brows rose. “Maybe a few….”

Gwen nodded. “Yeah, I’ll admit, I might have been soused in that picture, too.”

“Might?” Dean gestured at the screen. “That look like a sober woman to you?”

Amusement grew in her eyes, but she didn’t reply.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pictures #415-555:

They scrolled through pictures of the open seas, of the ship, and finally found more scenery.

“This was the long stop.” Several pictures were from the ship, focusing on the dock.

“What’s with the pictures of a line?” Jo looked at Sam.

He laughed gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “It was so funny, Jo. We were supposed to be on the ship at seven, no exceptions. This is the line of people who waited until then to start back. And this….” he skipped ahead several pictures to one of a very soaked man being helped by two uniformed people. “This is the drunk who fell off the pier and caused us to leave port an hour late. He had this wild story about how he had to jump in, but it was obvious he fell. He staggered over and was down.”

“How many drinks had you two had by then?” Dean sat back, setting Jack on his lap.

Gwen’s features scrunched up in a frown as she thought. “I’d had a couple of the passion fruit slushie thingies….”

Jo was starting to see a pattern here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pictures #570-575:

Jo and Dean both squinted, trying to make out the picture. The lighting hadn’t been that great.

“That’s Gwen learning the ‘Thriller’ dance,” Sam supplied.

“Want to see it?” She got up onto her knees. “I think I remember the whole thing.”

“Is that a glass in your hand.” Jo leaned closer.

“Hell yeah. Strawberry mango slushie. I think it might’ve had vodka in it, but I never could taste any alcohol.”

The next two pictures were a bit clearer. Definitely a drink in her hand.

~~~~~~~~~~

Loose picture #2:

“What’s this?” Jo pulled a picture from underneath the pile of daily ship bulletins. It was a picture of Sam and Gwen with a man in a white uniform.

“That’s our souvenir picture from the Captain’s tour of the ship.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “It was godawful expensive, more than any of our other excursions, boring as hell, and took our lunchtime, too. They didn’t even have the decency to feed us and we got out at the single hour of the day when the only food available was ice cream. Do you have any idea how many cones it takes to stop your stomach from grumbling?”

“Ten to fifteen,” Dean answered. “Maybe twenty to twenty-five if you’re really hungry.”

Somehow, it made sense that Dean would know that.

“It was an interesting tour.” Sam took the picture and laid it aside.

Gwen snorted. “The only reason we took it was because we could get away from those girls for three hours. I should’ve stayed in the room and taken a nap. Or gone to tea at the fancy dining room at the other end of the ship. Or, I should have booked a massage.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Sam’s reply was more than a little testy and Jo concluded that tour was a sore spot between them.

Hastily, she scrolled ahead on the iPad. “So, where were these pictures taken?”

~~~~~~~~~

Pictures #598-783:

Sam touched the screen, backing up a couple pictures. “These were Jamaica. We zip lined, which was pretty fun. Didn’t get out to see Rufus’s buddy though. Not enough time. I wish there’d been time. We’ll just have to get back down there.”

There was a progression in the pictures. Sam started out clean shaven and by the end, he had a good growth of beard on his jaw and his hair barely looked combed.

“Forget about personal hygiene, Grizzly Adams?” Dean raised a brow.

Gwen cleared her throat. “We were on vacation. I told him not to shave all week. I kind of liked the beard. It was sexy.” Stretching up a hand, she slid her fingers along Sam’s jaw.

“I couldn’t wait to shave,” Sam admitted.

“I still shaved my legs,” she told them. “Not gonna not do that.”

Dean nodded. “Jo always shaves her legs. Every two days in the winter and every day in the summer.”

“Good to know,” Sam replied. “Don’t know why we need to know that, but…thanks.”

“Gwen said it first.” Dean shifted Jack, leaning back to toss him up in the air and catch him several times. Jack kicked his feet out and screamed, a big smile on his face.

“One of these days, he’s going to puke when you do that,” Jo warned. It hadn’t happened yet, but in her opinion, it was only a matter of time, especially since Dean liked to do that right after Jack ate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Picture #826:

“That’s weird.” Sam shook his head. “There wasn’t any sun behind them.”

The picture was of the three girls, the ones they’d said had followed them around, a hazy golden glow around their bodies. The pictures leading up to it and the few after it were all okay.

“They were weird,” Gwen said, studying the picture. “Like really weird. Touchy-feely, giggly, plus that whole appearing out of nowhere thing. They creeped me out sometimes.”

Jo made the picture bigger and scrolled up and down. The haze made it look like their legs were a single leg each, blurred together. If it had been an old camera, Jo would have attributed it to the film being damaged, but it was digital. “I have no explanation.”

“It’s just a picture.” Sam shut down the iPad.

“You get seasick?” Dean hastily laid Jack against the burp cloth on his chest as Jo’s prediction came sort of true. Jack spit up all over the cloth. “Do _not_ say ‘you told me so’,” he told her as he handed Jack to her and cleaned it up.

She didn’t say it, though she thought it rather strongly.

“The first couple of days we were okay, but then we were both _living_ on Dramamine.” Gwen pressed a hand to her stomach. “Rough seas at night, just missed a hurricane --”

“Sure it wasn’t the alcohol made you queasy?” Jo tightened her grip on her squirming child and picked up one of the daily schedules, perusing it. It had things like the hairiest chest contest and bingo on it, along with a cigar bar, karaoke party, teeth whitening clinic, sports trivia, and wine tasting. She noticed the daily specialty cocktail listed in one corner. “Hangovers do that.”

“We weren’t hungover and we weren’t tipsy the entire cruise.” Sam crossed his arms.

“Just part of it.” Gwen’s grin was irreverent.

“Which part?” Dean smirked. “All of the waking hours?”

“Did you guys do something besides drink the entire cruise?” Jo finished with the pictures and shifted position to get a better grip on Jack.

“We saw the sights.”

“We stayed in the room awhile.”

Gwen’s cheeks reddened a bit at that, her eyes sparkling. Jo wondered if they’d liked the gift Dean had given them. “Sunbathed. Have you not noticed my enviable tan?”

“Swam and zip lined.”

“Ate.”

Sam nodded. “And ate some more.”

“And kept on eating. Lot of food. You would’ve loved it, Dean.” Gwen made a tall and wide gesture with her hands. “A tower of pies one night at the buffet area. I mean every kind of pie you can think of.”

“In each one of these pictures, you’re either drunk, or holding a frou-frou drink.” Dean backed up a few pictures to one of the both of them, saluting whoever was taking the picture with their drinks. Sam had the tiny umbrella sticking out of his mouth. Once more, he had that tipsy expression.

“They didn’t taste alcoholic, okay,” Sam snapped. “And we were on vacation.”

“The passion fruit something something sunset was yummy. Jo, you could totally make that drink here.”

“She had six of them at the out door movie and was shouting the lines with the characters. She got a whole group doing that.”

“I was a little blitzed.”

“In fact, I think I still might be,” Sam admitted. “The room feels like it’s swaying.”

“I thought that was just me.”

“You had a good time, then.” Dean smiled. “No busman’s holiday this time?”

“Unfortunately, the ship was a dead zone.” Gwen began gathering up the papers they’d laid out. “Nothing remotely supernatural anywhere. We looked. We even hoped for some kind of sea monster at one point, but nothing. I am so ready to get back to work it’s not even funny.”

“Awesome. We’re ready for you to be ready.”

Gwen finished clearing the table off, dumping the papers in the bag they’d come from and setting it aside. “So what happened here while we were gone?”

Jo exchanged a long glance with Dean and tried to shrug casually. “Nothing.” 

“You like the spa?”

“Sure.”

They stared at her. Sam quirked a brow. “There was no spa, was there, Jo?”

“Course there was.” Eventually. A day spa. A few hours of beauty treatments instead of a relaxing week. Bobby had paid for it. He’d taken both her and Ellen in and let them choose whatever they’d wanted. Funnily enough, the woman who’d worked on Jo’s feet apparently knew Bobby. Jo found it amusing that he went for pedicures occasionally.

“What was the job,” Gwen coaxed. “Come on, Jo. You didn’t really get hurt on the course out back. You can do it in your sleep.”

“No job,” Dean got up from the table. “It was quiet around here without you two troublemakers.”

“You’re lying.” Sam also got up.

“Prove it.”

Sam stared at him, then grinned and laughed. “Okay. We’ll let this go. What time’s the party, Jo?”

She hadn’t meant to have Jack’s birthday party the day Sam and Gwen got back, but it was the only time everyone could come. “About an hour.”

“I’m unpacking and doing laundry,” Gwen announced.

“Dean, why don’t you fill Sam in on the latest while I get things set up?” She got up, put Jack in the exersaucer in one corner and headed for the kitchen.


	32. Chapter 32

“What’ve we got?” Sam followed Dean up the stairs to the office area. Pinned to the board on one wall was a map of the U.S. with pins dotting it and several newspaper clippings. There were an awful lot of pins crowded together in clusters.

“For one, we’ve got Crowley hiding his crossroads demons out in the middle of nowhere because of something coming after them and for another…” Dean took a thick file from one shelf. “Check this out.”

“Where’d you get _that_ intel?” Crowely reassigning demons had to be a big deal. It meant there was a real threat to his reign. Sometimes Sam wished they’d been able to kill Crowley instead of him fleeing from them. The demon had cut his losses and run before they could put him down and had yet to give them another chance at him.

“Something Bobby scared up this past week.” Dean’s words were vague. Maybe someday Sam would get the real story of the past week from him.

What he laid down on the table in front of Sam was a newspaper article about a town. Sam read through it. “When did this happen?” He looked for the date. “Gwen and I were boarding the ship that day. We saw demonic omens right in that area the night before.”

“You texted me about it. I’ve got a few more details. Each body was mutilated and when they talk about the entire town in that article, they mean it. No one got out. It was bloody and gruesome. They’re still trying to clean it up. I’ve been in contact with one of the investigators. He promised to call me if they found something really bizarre as they searched the town and they did. Some sort of symbols painted on the floor in the high school gym. I figure we can leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, hell. Let’s go right after the party.”

“Get it past the wives and I’m with you.”

“Okay. I will.” As tired as he was from the trip, he could easily be ready to leave this evening. He gestured at the map. “What’s with all the pins? They’re not a part of _this_ are they?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Could be. That’s the other fun thing I found. Working hypothesis is that we’ve got a bunch of people running around with half-eaten souls.” He laid out more articles and a few papers with his handwriting on them. “It’s a _really_ working hypothesis. There’ve been a rash of attacks in a steady line from that road Gwen crashed on in Colorado all the way to Indiana. I even found a couple out on the coast now, too, and a few older attacks in the southern states from about a year ago.”

“About the time we think he was released?”

“Yeah. Anyway, the attacker subdues the victims, does something that causes excruciating pain, but doesn’t mark them up. Each one has reported feeling weird afterwards, like the assailant took a part of them somehow. They’ve been displaying aggressive tendencies and personality changes since attacked, both far out of proportion to what could be considered normal. Same sort of thing we’ve seen in Sophie.” He sighed. “A few of them have gone missing since, too. Could be suicides that haven’t been found or…. I don’t know. It’s weird, whatever it is. Might be something.”

From downstairs came the sound of other voices besides Gwen and Jo -- Ellen and Bobby.

Ellen’s voice was louder than Bobby’s. “There’s the birthday boy! Come to grandma, sweetie.”

Sam studied the pages, reading through everything before looking up at Dean. “All over the past four months, concentrated in Iowa and Illinois.” He tapped a portion of the list Dean had made. “These four were the day we left and only half an hour from the town that was massacred.”

“Awful big coincidence.” Dean slid over the pages on the weather patterns. “Add in the demonic omens right there and I’m wondering if it eats demons too.”

He sat back, thinking about that possibility. “Interesting question. Demons are corrupted souls and he eats souls, so…maybe?”

“Be a public service if he did. How can we convince him to gorge on them and not humans?”

Jo’s voice came from downstairs. “Hey! You two gonna join the rest of us? Got a birthday party starting down here!”

Sam stacked the papers and got up from his chair. “We’d better get down there.”

Gwen was holding Jack when they came downstairs, watching Jo set out the cake. Bobby and Ellen were already seated at the table and Sam saw a tower of brightly wrapped packages to one side on the floor. Ellen had gone all out again. Her delight in being a grandmother was obvious to anyone who looked at her with Jack.

There were two cakes: a little one for Jack and a bigger one for the rest of them. Gwen got Jack into his high chair and crouched down beside the chair. The candle was in the big cake, Dean blowing it out for Jack as they sang ‘Happy Birthday’.

Setting the little cake in front of Jack, Gwen brushed a finger along his cheek. “Eat up, little man. It’s all yours.”

He stared at the cake, then leaned over cautiously and pressed his mouth to it. He licked his lips, then grinned and grabbed at it with his hands, getting icing and cake all over himself, the high chair, and the floor. It was like watching a tornado touch down and send things flying.

Jo laughed and began to dish up cake and ice cream for everyone else except Dean. She went into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a slab of pie, piling it with ice cream before handing it to him.

Sam saw Dean pat Jo on the rear before sitting to eat. “Special treatment, huh?”

“I know what my man likes,” Jo replied, reaching for a fork and sitting in the chair beside Dean, “and it’s not cake.”

Ellen sat back and carefully aimed her camera at Jack, snapping a series of pictures. “So, Sam, what do you make of Crowley reassigning his demons to odd places? Dean did tell you, right?”

“He did.” He scraped a large glop of icing from his piece of cake and dropped it onto Gwen’s plate. She wasn’t usually much of a sweet eater, but liked icing. She’d eat the icing and leave the cake, while he’d eat the cake and leave the icing. “He’s running scared of something and we know it’s not us. We were speculating a few minutes ago that the soul stealer eats up demons. We already know he takes human and monster souls. Demons were once human souls. They’re still human souls, just twisted up and evil. It’d explain Crowley’s reorganization. If the creature needs to eat and knows he can find demons at the crossroads, why not go there? If he considers monsters of all kinds as good of food as humans? It takes a certain amount of time to make demons. What if the creature is eating up all of Crowley’s staff?”

“Go him. The less staff that demon dick has up running around the better,” Dean remarked, spooning a little bit of the vanilla ice cream from his pie for Jack to eat. The boy took it, spit it out, and smeared more icing all over his face. “You’re supposed to swallow it,” Dean told him and reached for a cloth to wipe his face with, “not spit it out.”

Jack kicked his feet in response.

Bobby sat back, his cake and ice cream largely untouched, and crossed his arms. “You heading out to that town that got butchered? See what the demonic omens brought out?”

“I’d like to move on it tonight,” Sam said, glancing at Gwen and Jo. “Longer we wait, the more clues we lose.”

After a bit more discussion, it was settled. They’d leave after the party.

~~~~~~~~~~

The town was a ton of weird. The murders were horrific, some of the bloodiest Dean had ever come across and he’d seen more than his share. He stepped across the floor of the high school gym to the cordoned off area. There’d been bodies here, too, several of them around the symbol. The smell of all those things that went with death lingered in the air. It seemed to permeate the entire town.

Dean crouched down. The symbols looked familiar, but he was having trouble placing them. “You get a picture of this, Sam?”

Sam crouched as well, camera in his gloved hands. “I did.”

“Looks like one we’ve seen before, but I can’t place it right now.”

“Neither can I. I’ll do a cross-reference of basic symbols when we get back to the motel.” He’d begun a folder of symbols they’d come across, each labeled with a date and case descriptor. Labeled elsewhere on file at home were further details such as what some symbols meant and how they were used together in certain rituals. It was useful information and putting it all together was possibly some sort of OCD thing on Sam’s part.

A voice came from behind them. “You have any ideas, Agents?”

Dean stood while Sam took a few close-up pictures. “It might fit a much smaller pattern we’ve been seeing.” He motioned the guy away a few steps from the activity in the gym. “Let me know if you get prints from a guy named Mick Richardson, alias Michael Ricks, anywhere here, okay?”

“You think one guy could do all this?”

“No, of course not, but he’s a person of interest to us. Just give me a quick call if you find his prints.” He handed the cop his card and returned to Sam.

Back at the motel, he called home, chatting with Jo awhile before hanging up and trying to get his mind centered back on the case. He thought this was all Mick. The soul stealer, rather. His prints were going to be everywhere. Dean poured a small amount of whiskey into a glass and sat at the table across from Sam.

He was deep into that file of symbols, trying to identify the ones from earlier.

“What’s he up to, Sam?” Dean swirled the liquor in his glass.

“Who? The soul stealer?” He looked up from the pictures. “Not sure. He’s been out about a year now.”

“My point exactly. He’s supposed to be so bad that everything is scared of him, but what’s he done? I mean really? What’s he done in a year?”

“He ate an entire town of fourteen hundred people? Isn’t that bad enough?”

“And before that?”

“If we’re correct, he’s been snacking his way across the country from Colorado to Indiana since the accident. That’s not nothing, Dean.”

“The accident that wasn’t really an accident, but rather an attempt to murder Gwen.”

“After he’d set a trap for us, ate part of Sophie’s soul, and tried to eat Jo’s soul.”

“And he tried to kill you.” Dean narrowed his eyes and sipped at the liquor. “Why didn’t it work? I mean whatever he was trying to do to you? Jo described exactly what Sophie said it felt like for him to chop at a piece of soul, but you didn’t feel that at all. How come he couldn’t do it to you?”

“Maybe he can’t.” Setting down one picture, he picked up another, squinted at it, and discarded it. “Maybe I’m immune somehow. Could be he can’t take the souls of angelic vessels or it could be a willpower thing.”

Dean nodded. “Could be.” He tapped the bottom of his glass lightly on the table. “Another thing bothering me.”

“Only one thing? What’s that?” Sam shuffled pictures, putting two side by side.

“When I looked, those single attacks didn’t seem to be anything big, but then I checked out the weather pattern Gwen pointed out to you, found the town massacre, and it all seemed to fit together.” He released the glass and gestured with his hands, threading his fingers together.

“And?”

“It seem strange to you that we didn’t notice the pieces until Gwen handed you one? Like we, you and I, weren’t allowed to see any of it? Seriously, Sam. There’s these strange attacks going on all over the place and we don’t notice them?”

He was silent a moment, then nodded. “Actually, it did seem strange. Strange that no hunters called us on them either.”

“Almost like we’re being kept in the dark for some reason.” Dean swallowed the liquor and put the glass down. He meant Castiel -- or some other angel or higher power. He hated to suspect Cas of that, but already had suspicions on Castiel’s involvement in Gwen’s accident. His manner was off, he was nervous when they saw him…. He’d been pondering the strangeness of the conversation they’d had that day at the hospital, trying not to think Castiel could be involved in it. He didn’t want to believe that Castiel would have a hand in hurting one of them for any reason. “Like angelic interference. Looks like an angel, smells like an angel, probably an angel.”

“The idea crossed my mind, too, but I’d hate to accuse Cas of doing something like that without proof.”

“I would, too. Hard to prove a hunch, though.”

“Why would Castiel do that? He should know about this creature, right?”

Dean had no answer. “You’d think.” Stretching out a hand, he turned the pictures Sam was now looking at. One was the symbol they’d found in the town. The other was a similar symbol. “They’re almost identical.” He pointed at the picture on the left. “Where’d we find that one?”

“Last year. The storage building that blew?”

“Right. Those are nearly a match to the one today.”

“They are. I wonder if some demon maybe tried to bind the soul stealer back to the earth.”

He scratched a finger on his jaw, thinking about that. “Wouldn’t he need to be part of the original bloodline that bound it? Also he’d have to have one of those boxes like we found and there wasn’t one at the scene.”

“Yeah….” Sam pointed at the pictures now. The symbol from the high school was missing some of the symbols that were on the other picture. “Look at the symbols that are missing.”

“What about them?”

His voice was excited. “If I’m right, the symbols that plug in here and here,” he tapped a finger to the picture in three places, “would correspond to these on the containment box. I’ll check the rest of the pictures when we get back, but I think those symbols were on the box, too. Remember? There were symbols on the box as well.”

“If they correspond, then what?”

He half laughed and turned in his chair. “Don’t you see it, Dean?”

“Obviously not. Enlighten me.”

“Well…they must be the power symbols, the ones with the most oomph, and….These look like the same ones that were on the Trickster box. The possible Enochian ones.” Her turned the pictures, peering at them and nodding his head. “I think the whole thing works on the same principle as what we used on the Trickster. Maybe Aaron even adapted _this_ containment ritual and spell to the Trickster. Think about it. Instead of sucking his entire soul and powers, his being, into the containment, he figured out how to change it, adapt it, to take just his powers.”

“How sure are you that that could be the case?”

“The timeline for one. He mentioned the soul stealer killing Bill Harvelle’s parents long before he mentioned anything about the Trickster. It reasons out. If he already had this information and he was the genius we think he was, how hard would it have been for him to adapt it?”

It did make sense. “He would’ve had to figure out how to change it to the Trickster instead of the soul stealer, specify the Trickster’s powers and not his entire essence, break down both the symbols and the spoken words into each component, analyze it all, and puzzle it back together how he wanted it.” Dean snorted. “If he did that, he _was_ a friggin’ genius, especially with Tricksters not being in as big supply as some of the other monsters out there.” Occasionally he wondered why there didn’t seem to be many tricksters. A few here and there, yes, just not many overall in the world.

“Wouldn’t that mean that his containment on the Trickster was an experiment that he’d merely predicted would work? He had enough confidence in his calculations that he used it blind to try to save Gwen.”

“That takes balls.” Dean eyed the whiskey bottle, but didn’t reach for it.

“And desperation, but he was right. It worked. His hypothesis was proven right twice now, once by him and once by us.”

Dean sat back in his chair, studying both pictures. If the concept was the same…. “We could use this as a jumping off point to do the same thing he did, working to adapt it back to the soul stealer. You already know what some of it means.”

“Except the possible Enochian.”

“And you’re sure it has to be Enochian?”

“Doesn’t it look like it to you? Balthazar denied having seen any of the symbols, but he was lying. I could see it. He was lying and alarmed by me having them. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t steal the box.”

“Maybe someone reigned him in somehow.”

“Castiel? Isn’t he supposed to be some big boss angel now?”

“Something like that. What’s say we give old Cas a call?”

It was a good idea in theory, except for the part where Castiel didn’t show up. They decided to go back to base and start working on dissecting the parts of the spell and comparing the symbols.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of fall passed swiftly by, heading towards the winter months. Jo and Gwen went up against a Lugat that started killing his victims -- odd behavior for one of that kind. A Lugat usually only took a small amount of blood, but this one had gone on a killing spree and expressed no remorse.

Sam didn’t know if the monster’s soul was gone or not, though his change in manner indicated it. It wasn’t just Jo and Gwen finding weird changes in the monster population. Bobby and Ellen had as well, along with all the hunters they knew. The hunting community was abuzz with that news. Vampires, werewolves, shape shifters and skin walkers popping up to ask hunters to kill them. Gentler monsters, such as the Lugat, turning violent. Weird.

And now Sam had a Dryad acting out with aggression to a simple questioning when they’d gone in to question her using all the proper respectful rituals. They’d been no threat to her, yet she’d shot Dean. He took out his phone.

“Don’t you call her.” The words were beginning to slur, Dean reaching to grab the phone and missing, his perception off at present due to the dosage Sam had given him. “Sammy, don’t you dare.”

Sam held the phone up to his ear and shoved Dean firmly back onto the bed with one hand. “You just lay there and enjoy your morphine, Dean.”

Jo’s voice answered him. “Hello? Sam? Morphine? I heard the word morphine. What happened?”

“Dean got shot.” Before he could say more, she was asking questions.

“What? How bad is it? Is he okay?”

Sam glanced at Dean. “He’s fine. The Dryad had crap aim.”

“Why was a Dryad using a gun to begin with? They’re harmless, peaceful creatures.”

“Long story. Anyway, it got him in the arm, more grazed him than anything. Lot of blood, little wound. He got morphine because he’s being a crybaby about it.”

“Graze,” Dean replied, lifting his head from the pillow. “Hell you say! Went clear through and I’m not being a crybaby, you dick, I’m in pain!”

“What’d he say,” Jo asked. “It went through?”

“Grazed,” Sam repeated. “I know the difference between a hole all the way through and a graze, Jo. Listen, I need you to pull out the file I was putting together on the Vanadevata.”

“Vanadevata? Spell it for me.”

He did, though there weren’t many files in the ‘v’ section of the filing cabinet yet.

“Make their homes in trees? Will punish those who cut the trees down?”

“That’s them. Is there anything there about them attacking women?”

“They’re not native to the U.S..” Papers rustled. “What kind of attacks?”

“Rapes.”

“No. Nothing.”

“Damn.” He’d remembered the Vanadevata could be violent when their homes were cut down.

“Sam, have you tried looking into the Leshie population?”

The name was familiar. “Refresh my memory.”

“There’s a Leshie clan lives in the woods in that region, though they’re usually not active this late in the season. Their active period is normally early spring to the start of fall. They wander the woods all over there like nomads, living in one area for awhile, then moving on. They’re shape shifters, like to trick travelers and lure them deep into the woods to die of starvation and thirst. When I ran into them a few years back, their Czar had a firm hand on them and only allowed them to trick thieves. If there was a power struggle, he may have been deposed.”

“How would they fit in with rapes in the area?”

She was silent a minute. “Wild Leshie lure women into the woods, then rape them until they’re mute from the trauma and release them. The women come out of the woods covered in moss and never talk again.”

“Got a name for the Czar you met?”

“He went by the name Grayson, but be careful, Sam. They’re a really volatile bunch. I was really lucky to come back out of the woods alive and well.”

“I will. You want to talk to Dean a minute?”

“Is he coherent enough?”

Sam chuckled. “For the moment. Here he is.” He patted Dean’s good arm. “It’s Jo.”

Dean took the phone, nearly dropping it before he got it to his ear. “He drugged me, Jo. My own brother…. Yeah…. It is good stuff.” His words descended into all slurs, his blinks becoming slower as the drug pulled him under. The phone dropped and Sam picked it up.

“And he’s out. Probably for awhile.”

“You sure he’s okay?”

“As good as I can make him. 

“Why’d you give him morphine for a scratch?”

“Because he needs the rest.”

“It’s more than a scratch, isn’t it? It went all the way through, right?”

He didn’t answer her. “I’m gonna check out the Leshie angle, see if anything comes of it.”

“Call me if you find Grayson. You may need me to talk to him.”

“Sure.” He had a brief window of opportunity here where Dean would be down for the count. He needed to use that opportunity to the best of his ability.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lachesis was too much of a party girl for even Balthazar to keep up. He was actually distressed to realize that. She’d been leading him from party to party for nearly a week now, dancing and drinking the hours away.

“Come on, already,” she coaxed. “The night is still very young, Balthazar.”

He let her drag him a few steps down the sidewalk. “You’re wearing me out, darling.”

“Ooooh…..” She pouted, lower lip thrust out. “I thought you’d be more fun.”

“If you think I’m no fun, it’s a good thing you never convinced Castiel to come out with you.”

“I’ve always known he’d never come out with me. I love to tease him. You on the other hand….” She grasped his chin between thumb and forefinger. “You had potential.”

“So sorry I’ve disappointed.”

Lachesis waved a hand. “It’s fine. Not many can keep up with me.” Releasing his chin, she linked her arm through his. “Did you try Clotho first?”

“I did, yes. Why?”

“Oh, she intimated you’d be calling on me soon and here you are.” Her smile was delighted. “Flirt.”

“Tease.”

They walked, passing groups of revelers. A lot of parties going on.

“What do you want, Balthazar,” she asked, her tone sliding abruptly into a serious mien.

“Do I have to want something?”

“No, but you do. What are you buttering me up to get?” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “You know, I’ve seen the life of your vessel to the end. I was there when he was born, watched the threads of his life knit together. Even though you’re driving the bus, he is still there. You’re using a portion of his existence. Therefore, I see…you.”

“And what is it you’ve seen and see?”

She smiled wide. “Enough. I’ve seen enough.” Stretching her hands up, she ran them through his hair and stepped back. “I can’t and won’t tell you what you’re trying to find.” Turning, she walked a few steps, then looked back over her shoulder. “Two out of three say no. What will the third say?”

Lachesis disappeared from view, leaving him standing alone on a cold New York street. Very well, he thought. Atropos was the lucky Fate he’d focus fully on.

~~~~~~~~~~

If Sam had even remotely hoped to return to the motel while Dean was still asleep, he would’ve been rather mistaken. Instead, he opened the door to find Dean awake and contemplating his injured arm with a look of abject disgust. He also looked annoyingly well-rested, whereas Sam hadn’t had sleep in over twenty-four hours now and had been in two fights that could have resulted in his death.

“Where’ve _you_ been?” Dean pulled on his shirt and let out a hiss when he moved his arm. “Son of a bitch that hurts.”

Sam glanced down at himself. He had mud and leaves in his hair, scratches on face, neck, and arms, more mud and blood smeared on whatever skin was showing plus his clothes, his shirt was in strips and ready for a rag bag, and he was limping due to a painful gash on his left calf. “In the woods.” He dropped into one chair. “Took care of the monster problem.”

“Do tell.”

“Not much to tell.” Actually, there was a lot to tell, he was just too tired to go into it all right now. “Jo had suggested I look into the Leshie population, so I let them lead me into the woods. Deep into the woods, as in so lost you’re screwed. Then their original leader came out to chat. Turns out the Dryad that shot you was another rape victim had been yanked from her home tree a couple hundred miles away by a rival Leshie Czar who, for no reason anyone can see, went crazy and completely changed his policies. He dragged her here, used her to entice Grayson’s most impressionable clan members --”

“Wait.” Dean held up a hand. “Entice?”

“Unless the Leshie are reigned in by a Czar, they go wild and a favorite activity is raping women until they’re catatonic.”

“And that includes Dryads apparently.”

“Apparently. I guess quite a few of the clan joined in. Before the Dryad-napping, there’d been a truce between the two clans. It took them all by surprise.”

“So why are you all torn up if all you did was talk?”

Sam cast a longing glance at the bathroom. A shower would be wonderful right now, along with a meal and sleep. “The rival showed up, things got hairy, the Dryad got murdered, and Grayson is taking her killer back to her home forest for sentencing by her clan. I walked out and back here.”

“How’d you get out if you were lost?”

He held up his phone. “GPS, dude.”

“You were saved by Mapquest?”

He chuckled. “You could put it that way. Can I get in the shower, Dean? I have mud and Leshie blood all over me.”

“Yeah, sure. If we’re done here, let’s just pack up and head out.”

“Don’t try doing too much. You still have a hole in your arm.”

“You told Jo it was a scratch. Now you’re admitting it’s a hole?”

“She knew I was lying.”

Once he’d had a meal and sleep, he’d be able to go through what had happened with a lot more detail, telling Dean everything the Leshie murderer had said. He hadn’t gone crazy. The creature maintained that. He’d had an epiphany. Sam had had to work fast to get anything from him, but the gist of what the creature said was that he’d been attacked by a monster in a human guise, a very old monster that he’d recognized, one who’d ripped his soul from him. He’d known what had happened, but with his soul gone, he didn’t care anymore. A long time ago, he’d used his abilities to help trap the creature so hunters could take care of it.

The attack on him had been personal. Payback.

There’d been little else he could say and there was no way to get whatever other information he’d have. Grayson had whisked him away and by now, the Dryad’s clan would be killing him.

Sam had tried to stall them, but Grayson was a good leader, set on seeing justice as soon as possible. He’d wanted to get the Dryad home so her family and friends could mourn.

He had to wonder if there were other Leshie out there, or other creatures like them, who’d aided in a trap. If they could find them somehow and convince them to help again, they’d have some sort of edge.


	33. Chapter 33

The house had been relatively quiet since Jo and Gwen had left on a job, a rare paying one at that. It had come from a friend of Ellen’s and Jo and Gwen had jumped at a chance to head for New York for a few days. Sam had spent the time checking over the supplies in the panic room and trying to get Dean to do absolutely nothing so his arm would heal faster. He’d declined to follow that advice. Not like Sam was going to parent Jack for him every day all day.

“Refill the first aid kit,” Jo ordered. “Remind Sam how hard it is to get the good stuff. In fact, make him refill it this time. My contact and Bobby’s can only outfit us so much before they’ll get looked at funny, remember?”

“I know, I know. He only gave me that to get me through the first few hours.”

“And keep you out of his hair so he could finish up.”

Totally true, but not like he’d never done that to Sam before when he’d realized Sam would be useless to continue. He heard the sound of songs switching over and over in the background and Gwen’s irritable order to ‘pick something already’. “You about there?”

“Close to. Gwen’s hating the traffic. The cab driver next to us keeps yelling at her in gibberish and making rude gestures.”

He could picture Jo making rude gestures right back so Gwen wouldn’t have to take her hands from the wheel. “Sounds like fun.”

“Totally. Don’t forget you have ‘Daddy and me’ tomorrow at nine.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes, smartass, nine in the morning.”

“Do we have to go?” Jo had signed Jack up for a playgroup that Dean had to take him to. She’d told him it’d be good for him to meet some of the other dads in the area, since likely the kids would be in the same school. The unsaid part was that probably those were the dads he’d need to deal with when Jack got old enough to get into fights. Might as well get to know them now before it happened.

“It’s free, Dean, and he needs to start making friends. Some of the kids will probably be the same ones that were at the ‘mommy and me’ group.”

“How much playing do they actually do? They’re all about one, right?” He thought it sounded more like a group for the dads to socialize than the kids.

“You’d be surprised. Watch for this Bryce kid though. He’s a smacker. Smacked a girl named Susan last time and she wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Fine. We’ll go.”

“Good. Abby been there yet?”

“Should be any time.” Getting up, and grimacing at the twinge of pain in his arm when he moved it, he went to the front window.

Abigael had taken their instructions to heart about coming to see Jack the past year. She still asked before showing up and never stayed past the allotted time, though Dean couldn’t remember the last time she’d been there at the same time he was. It was almost like she was avoiding him. 

She pulled into the driveway in a Mustang that wasn’t more than a few years old, but had certainly seen better days, parking beside the Impala.

“There she is. Gotta go. Love you.” He hung up, slipped his phone into his pocket and opened the door as she stepped up onto the porch. “You’re driving now? God help us all, angels on the road.”

“Yes, I’m driving.” She stepped inside and took off her coat, hanging it on the hook between his and Jack’s coats and shooting a sidelong glance his way. “That’s right. You haven’t been here for the past few visits. You’ve been working.”

“When did you start driving?”

“A couple months ago.” She grinned. “And no, I haven’t had any accidents. I’m a good driver.” 

“First car?”

“Yes. Uzziel’s research indicated it was customary for a first car to be a piece of crap that might not start. I negotiated the price myself, after doing my own research as to the value of the car and other factors. I believe I got a steal.” Looking around the room, she raised her brows. “Where’s Jack? Jo usually has him ready.”

“Ready?”

“We go out.”

“Alone? You take my kid out alone?”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “Of course not. Jo comes with. Or Gwen. Sometimes both and sometimes Ellen comes along as well.”

He waved a hand. “Wait. You’ve been having coffee hour with our wives during your supervised visits?”

Abigael took a few steps towards the kitchen, quiet a moment before answering him. “I’m playing by _your_ rules, Dean, the ones you set forth for me. I’ve continued to have monitored visits despite the fact that I’ve done nothing here since that night to betray your trust.”

She was right, he supposed, though he got the feeling she might just be telling him what she knew he wanted to hear from her. It wasn’t like he’d know if she stood there out of sight, was it? Being an angel, it was likely she could do that. “Just a question. He’s upstairs.” He led the way into Jack’s room, relieved a little that Jack seemed happy to see her, reaching up his arms for her to pick him up, which she did.

“He’s getting so big! Top percentile now?”

“In height and weight both.” He gestured towards the hall. “You want coffee? I just made some.”

“Sure. I’d love some.” She followed him downstairs, carrying Jack. “Where is everyone?”

“Jo and Gwen are chasing down a vengeful spirit in New York and Sam’s out with Ellen.” He dragged a chair at the table out. “Have a seat.” On the table were printouts of the symbols they thought were Enochian. When he returned with the coffee, a mug for both of them, she was looking at them, holding one up and studying it. “You ever seen those before?”

“No.” The refusal was instantaneous.

“We might have an idea what they could be.”

“And that is?”

“Enochian.”

“They don’t resemble anything I know.” She changed the subject then.

He sipped at his coffee, listening with half an ear to Abigael telling him about Jael trying to teach Uzziel to drive a car. How did he broach the subject of Castiel and his whereabouts?

“After totaling three cars in the attempt, and enduring Balthazar’s taunts I might add, Jael concluded that teaching Uzziel was a total loss.” She smiled and stood Jack up on her lap, balancing him. He grinned at her and waved his hands. “I must say, Dean, his development is outstanding.”

“Thanks. Speaking of development, how’s your former mentor these days?” Smooth, Dean, he thought. Real smooth. Not his best transition.

“Castiel?”

“You have another mentor I don’t know about?”

“I don’t know how he is. I haven’t seen him in awhile. Weeks, anyway. Why?”

“Curious. Called him and he didn’t answer. Should I be worried?”

It looked to him like she paused a fraction too long before answering. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Are you? What’s he working on these days? Anything…big?” Shrugging, he curved his fingers about his mug and raised it, taking a sip.

“Nothing bigger than what he’s already been working on the past year. Were you hoping for a social call? Good luck on that. He doesn’t much join anyone for after-shift drinks these days. Program graduates have tried.”

“He never really did join anyway. No, I was looking for a consult.” He indicated the pictures. “On these symbols.” 

“Ahh. I can’t help you. I already told you I don’t know what they mean.”

“Abigael.” He gave her his best charming smile, the one that usually worked on women. “Come on.”

“Dean.” Her smile was the feminine mirror of his. “I can’t help you.”

“You were a librarian.”

Her laugh was amused. “Why does everyone always say that like librarians have the keys to all knowledge?”

“To be fair, you worked in the heavenly library that actually is all knowledge.”

“True. I had my corner, but it wasn’t in languages. Nor was it in symbology.”

“Those are separate departments?”

“Considering the number of civilizations that have come to pass on earth…yes. The language department breaks down into spoken and written live languages, spoken and written dead languages, which have a sub-department of symbols, which has sub-departments of its own of various types of symbols. There is, however a sub-department of the written and spoken languages departments devoted to the development of each language that cross-references to the human history department.”

“Weren’t you in human history?” He thought he remembered her saying that.

Her mouth opened and she seemed both surprised and annoyed. “You remembered.”

“Sam’s not the only one who occasionally remembers the odd fact. So…. I’m sure you have a friend or two who could take a look if you asked.” He slid the pictures close to her. “Remember to say please.”

She stared at him, lips pursed. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, Dean. I’ll see what I can do. I won’t promise anything.”

“Not askin’ for a promise.”

“For the record, I don’t like being coerced or trapped into doing anything.”

“For the record….” He crossed his arms on the edge of the table and leaned over slightly, staring into her eyes. “Neither do I.”

Strangely enough, she seemed to pale at that, turning her attention quickly to Jack. For the first time, to his knowledge, she left her supervised visit early.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rather than go to Dean when he was asked to come, Castiel avoided a meeting, hoping that the need would go away. It was a thing he’d done before and knew that it was the wrong action to take. Usually the need only increased and by the time he answered, Dean was royally pissed. He headed for a different meeting this time, one Abigael had requested. A meeting with her would be less emotional.

He touched down at one of the parks in Sioux Falls. Abigael was waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of a car. She was dressed much like Jo was most days, in jeans and a tshirt, jacket and boots. “Abigael.”

She stood up straight and crossed to meet him, staring into his eyes for a long moment before saying, “He threatened me, Castiel.”

“Who did?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Tell me what happened.” He wasn’t surprised if Dean _had_ threatened her. After all, she was an angel and supernatural creature. It was only a matter of time before he threatened her because of one thing or another. Castiel had been threatened himself a few times and knew that the circumstances surrounding Dean’s threat meant everything.

She told him, pulling pictures from her coat pocket. “He wants me to investigate these.”

He took them. “It wasn’t a threat. He was stating a fact. He doesn’t like being manipulated and trapped into action. It’s fact.”

“No, he wasn’t just stating a fact. He knows something is up and he knows we’re involved. Maybe not that I am, but he knows angels are involved. Balthazar said these are ancient Enochian and I believe him. Dean thinks they’re Enochian as well. He’s certain and won’t rest until he’s got confirmation.”

“It’s not time for them to have that confirmation.” It wasn’t supposed to be time for another couple months, yet Dean and Sam were the free will team, switching things up away from the script. He knew that and should have realized they’d be ahead of schedule. They were probably almost ready to go after the thing even without the pieces of information he’d taken away.

“Can you afford to keep it from them much longer? I have to go back to that house, Cas. I’ve another visit in two weeks and I’ll bet you it’s Dean there that time, too. He’ll want an answer and I doubt he’ll take ‘I don’t know’. What do you want me to tell him? Figure it out before I have to go there.”

“Dean won’t hurt you.” Actually he might.

“It was a threat. I know a threat when I hear it. His tone of voice was all business.”

He suppressed a sigh. Maybe he could let them have that knowledge or a piece of it. As long as they hadn’t connected the ritual and symbols for the Trickster with the ones for the Soul Stealer yet. As long as they hadn’t noticed the similarities. It wasn’t time for them to rush out after the creature and he didn’t want to deal with whatever special punishment Death would send his way for not keeping them away until the proper time. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll go to him, go to _them_ , and talk to them.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, studying him, stepping closer, into that personal space area Dean always complained Castiel invaded. “You look tired.”

“I am tired. When I agreed to aid Death, I’d no idea what I was getting myself into. This creature is active. He’s taking bits of human souls, leaving them vulnerable to attack by other creatures. Some of them he’s circling back to watch the monsters take the humans, then taking the monsters along with the rest of the human soul, leaving trails of bodies behind him.”

“He’s laid traps for certain types of monsters.”

“Yes. He’s hunting them and he’s fast. He’s got them all starting to run, even the demons. The defeat of Agares has the demons wary, cautious to cross him. A few monster types have fled the U.S. already, returning to their countries of origin. The call has gone out around the world that he’s been released. One creature forced itself into hibernation, probably in hopes that when it woke the soul stealer would be imprisoned again.”

“And you’re trying to mop it all up, keep it low?”

“A never-ending task. And I thought the war and Raphael had me exhausted. If I could bind Death into a cage right now I would.”

Reaching up, she touched her fingers to his cheek in a quick, compassionate and consoling caress. “Only a few more months.”

“Can the world last that long? Can…I last that long?”

“You have to, unless you can get Death to switch up the timeline somehow.”

That would hardly happen. He almost rolled his eyes. 

“You know as well as I that the proper balance has to be maintained. All of this will lead to that.”

It didn’t appear to be leading to anything but the population of the United States decimated. Shoving the pictures in his coat pocket, he turned away, changing the subject to one that had been on his mind now and again. “Abigael? Did Death ever tell you exactly why he let Gwen live?”

“Yes.”

That answer surprised him and he looked over his shoulder. “You know the purpose behind it?”

“I do and no, I can’t tell you. It’s complicated.”

“Does it have to do with any of this? I mean in the wrap-up?” He’d been wondering for awhile if Gwen would perhaps be a part of whatever was supposed to happen. It would explain Death’s sudden turnaround on her death and the more Castiel considered it, the more likely he thought it to be the case.

“Don’t fish, Castiel.” Her face betrayed no answer either way. “Let me know about those symbols.” She walked away, got into the car, and drove off.

Upon returning to heaven, he found Uzziel waiting.

“I’ve that information you requested.” Once in that office he’d taken as his, they sat, Uzziel relaxing back in one chair. “Aaron Bennett’s associates were all human and all who they said they were, though there is one woman that was occasionally within his circle that I can’t seem to find. A Brenda Modglin. She existed and then suddenly, she didn’t. She wasn’t a direct associate of his, but rather one of Bill Harvelle’s. I believe she might have been his girlfriend before Ellen.”

“There’s no trace of her?” That was suspicious. Humans left traces. They might be minute, but there were usually traces somewhere.

“Her background is clean, almost too much so. It’s possible she slipped through a crack in our information. Collection _was_ spotty the past century and the scribe strike meant a lot of information didn’t get recorded in full detail or even at all. I could expand my search and concentrate on her if you’d like. It might require searching out human heaven for Bill Harvelle to get information on her if other avenues fall short.”

Castiel nodded. “Do it.”

“And if she turns out to be nothing special?”

“I’ll accept the blame for the allocation of resources.”

Uzziel smiled and adjusted the tails of his coat. “Generous of you, Cas. I’m enjoying the break from daily duties however.”

At least someone was. “Where did he get some of his information,” he mused out loud.

“He consulted a shaman once, used other sources like that, but most of his information was passed down, generation to generation. Best guess is he found it in his family archives.”

At this rate, he was going to have to search heaven for Aaron and talk to him himself. Maybe it’d even come to that.

Castiel took a few days, then went to see Dean and Sam. He appeared in the upper office area. The two looked ready to head out on a hunt, Sam packing files and reference books into a box and Dean rifling through a bag. “Hello.”

Dean glanced up. “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence. You ever check your messages?”

“I apologize. I’ve had a busy few weeks.”

“That’s what Abigael said.”

“I hear you’re trying to identify a couple symbols?”

Sam paused in packing, went to the cork wall and took a few pictures down, bringing them back and laying them on the table so he could see them. “Yeah, these. I talked to Balthazar and he claimed he didn’t know what they were.”

“Why didn’t you contact me?”

Dean’s reply was mumbled. “As long as it takes you to answer sometimes?”

“You never answered. Neither did Abigael.”

“I apologize. You didn’t believe his denial?”

“Not really. They look Enochian, Cas. Are they?”

“Possibly the oldest form.” He held up one picture, pretending to study it. “I’m not sure.”

“How can you not be sure?” Dean crossed his arms. “You’re an angel. It’s your language.”

“Can _you_ read, say, Middle English?”

Sam raised a hand. “I can. Sort of. It can get tricky sometimes with a few of the words, but once you get the hang of it, it’s not too hard to translate.”

Of course Sam would read Middle English. How could he not? Castiel felt very much like he should start weeping and laughing hysterically. “How do you know Middle English, Sam?”

“I took a class for an English requirement. It was fun. Jess had that class, too.”

“Oh.”

“Where does Middle English fit in with this,” Dean asked.

“Like your own language,” he set the picture back down, “Enochian has evolved with time. The only angels who’d know the earliest form of Enochian are the archangels and I can hardly confer with them at present. By the time the rest of the levels of angels were created, the language had already begun evolving past the beginning state. I believe Gabriel was responsible for much of the change.”

“What about the heavenly library? Dean asked Abby to see what her contacts could come up with.” Sam took the pictures back and tacked them again on the wall.

Castiel stepped around the table to look at that wall. It was divided into two sections, one that was free of clippings and pictures and the other that was filled. He perused the papers and pictures. He saw the information on the Trickster box, each of the elements to it and the spoken spell broken down, some translated with accurate wording. They were deep into dissecting both the symbols and the spoken words, puzzling out how the pieces fit together and worked together. The spoken part of the process was written out to one side, those words rearranged in nearly the correct sequence. Only six words were out of order. The power symbols had been identified as well and Castiel almost did cry then.

They were so far ahead of schedule he had really only one chunk of information to keep from them: the final bits on the soul stealer. Somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if they found them in a place, or with a person, he hadn’t thought they’d be.

“Her contacts came up with nothing. She asked me to inform you since I was coming to see you anyway.”

“Cas?” Sam moved closer to him. “You okay? You look like you’re about ready to bawl like a baby. What’s wrong?”

He turned away, a faintly ill sensation curling in his belly. “I’m having a bad…season.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

Yeah, he thought. Stop looking into this for awhile. “No. Not a thing.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Don’t you have any records?” 

He moved close like Sam was and Castiel suddenly felt boxed in, taking steps away from them, walking around the table in the center of the room. “Regretfully, no.”

They exchanged a look of disbelief and Dean raised a hand, punctuating his words with a finger gesturing in the air. “Let me get this straight. Your angelic language evolved, but you oh-so-smart beings weren’t smart enough to write it all down before the knowledge was lost?”

It did sound stupid when put like that. He wasn’t lying exactly, he just wasn’t telling them the whole truth. No one had chronicled it, so it wasn’t written down, per se, though pieces were…available if one searched very hard and long for them. “We’re not all-knowing, Dean. We had no idea the old knowledge would become relevant.”

“Boy, you guys really do have a problem with arrogance, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“What, did you think you were so far above all of us that you’d never forget anything?”

Dean was certainly in a mood. He wondered what was going on here to cause it. “It wasn’t my decision. If it had been, I would, of course, have recommended a concise chronicle of the language in the original form. No one asked me, Dean.”

His frown smoothed out and he nodded. “Sorry.”

“Jack’s got an ear infection again,” Sam explained, returning to his task of packing references. “It’s the second one in as many months --”

Ahh, that explained it.

“I’m sure Cas doesn’t care about my kid’s ear infection, Sam.”

“On the contrary, I do care.” He put his hands in his coat pockets. “You’re understandably upset. Is he responding to treatment?”

“Yeah, he is. I hate that…pained cry, you know?” Dean pressed a closed fist to his chest. “Gets me here every time. Seems he always gets sick when I’m not here and it’s up to Jo to take care of him.”

“She’s a good mother, yes?”

“Oh yeah, course she is. The best, but I should be here. I don’t want to be here only for the good stuff. I want to be here for all of it. It’s not fair to Jo to not be here.”

“Delay your hunt.”

“Not me going this time. I’m staying back with Jo while Sam and Gwen go. Noticed the infection this time before we left.” He zipped the bag on the table. “Gwen’s all excited for a bloody, gory crime scene.” Dean pointed a finger at Sam. “Your wife is as nuts as mine.”

“Well, since I’m also as nuts as you, I guess that makes it a regular nuthouse around here.”

Castiel blinked. “Nuthouse?”

“Psych hospital,” Sam clarified with a distracted tone. “Dean, have you seen that journal of Aaron’s I was reading?” He moved a few items on the table and looked under them.

“You’ve been reading all of them. Which one was this?”

“The red sticker on the front. The one I told you about? Where he mentions Bill Harvelle’s parents?”

“He mentions them occasionally in most of the early journals. Dude really liked them.”

Sam turned and began checking each shelf and flat surface in the area. “The one where he mentions their deaths?”

“Oh. No, I haven’t seen it. It’s here somewhere. Gwen probably moved it when she was cleaning up here earlier.”

“I was going to take it with us and keep reading.”

“Maybe she packed it for you.”

“What is the importance of the journal, Sam?” Castiel put his hands in his coat pockets, suddenly suspicious of Balthazar now. He was insistent that Sam and Dean were on the verge of learning things they shouldn’t and that the entire stash of Aaron Bennett’s journals were dangerous and should be incinerated. Balthazar could potentially be right.

“I think he was beginning to lead into the soul stealer information. He described Ronnie and Ham telling him about a protected location having been broken into and a dangerous object being opened, about family duty and an oath taken a long time ago. This was before he met Mia and wasn’t on good terms with them anymore. That was as far as I’d gotten, but I’m sure it was about the soul stealer.”

“It didn’t sprout legs and walk off,” Dean commented, zipping the bag he’d been working on and setting it by the stairs.

No, but possibly Balthazar had developed sticky fingers and made off with it. “I’ll leave you to your packing.” As he left, he heard Dean call him back, but decided it would be wise to keep away for awhile again, before Dean had a chance to think of questions to ask him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Atropos set a scene, taking care of the details in an almost loving manner. The enjoyment she got from a job well done was beyond measure. She smiled softly to herself and turned, almost ready to let time slip into motion again.

The angel Balthazar was waiting, standing across the street, his hands in his pockets, watching her. He seemed to have nothing better to do than to follow her all over creation. Surely he had a job he was supposed to be attending to? She’d first noticed him Thanksgiving day, but who knew how long he’d been following her? She’d asked Lachesis, but her sister had merely smiled in that annoying enigmatic fashion and refused to give her answers. Adjusting her glasses, she stalked over to him.

“You’re following me.”

He leaned against the building behind him with a nonchalant air. “Am I?”

“You are. Why?”

She saw a faint twitch of one brow. “I enjoy watching a dedicated career woman tick things off her list. It’s very erotic and you are exceptionally dedicated.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that, love.”

“Why not? And don’t call me ‘love’. It’s an annoying habit.”

“You fascinate me.”

“Find someone else to fascinate you.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried, but there’s something about you that intrigues me.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d never intrigued anyone before. It was always Lachesis that got that reaction. “Fine. Follow me around, but stay out of my way. If you interrupt one single job, I’ll see to it that you have a personal accident.”

“Agreed.” He gestured towards the street. “If you’re finished, perhaps we could…get a bite somewhere. I know this wonderful café --”

“No.” Without looking to see if he followed her, she started time once more and left for her next appointment.

~~~~~~~~~~

The holidays had Sam reflective and watching Jo and Dean trying to give Jack a good second Christmas brought out yearnings in Sam that he’d been trying to tamp down. Maybe this was the time. Maybe he was ready -- or would be if Castiel could give him the news he wanted.

“Sam?”

He turned, very glad Castiel had answered him right away. That happened only rarely. Was it his imagination, or did Castiel just flinch? “Hey, Cas.” He also looked a bit more frazzled than he had the last time Sam had3 seen him.

“You asked me to visit?” He didn’t stay in one place, walking slowly around the room, peering into the other rooms, pausing at the doorways to touch the baby gates that were in place.

“You okay?”

Tour finally complete, he shoulders seemed to relax. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

“Uh….” He put his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugged. While he’d waited for Castiel to show up, he’d tried to plan what he wanted to say and now that the angel was there, Sam didn’t know how to begin. “Jack just turned one not long ago.”

“Yes. He is growing rather quickly.”

“He’s a good baby.”

“He is. He’s exceptional in many ways, like his parents.”

“Dean and Jo are good parents.”

“Yes?” Confusion flickered in his eyes. “Did you ask me to come merely to discuss Jack, Dean, and Jo?”

“No…um….” He licked his lips. This was harder to talk about than he’d anticipated. “You told me Gwen can’t have vessels. Genetically, she’s not a match for that.”

“Yes. And?”

“I need something cleared up. I’ve been thinking about that --”

He took a step closer. “Is Gwen pregnant, Sam?”

“No! God, no!” He shook his head, aware that there’d been a touch of panic in his voice. “At least I don’t think so. If she is, it’s like really…. Because she just had…. Never mind. I don’t think she is.” He ran a hand through his hair.

Spit it out, dummy, he told himself with a sigh. Don’t waste Castiel’s time.

“My blood. It’s got that demon…taint. Is it possible I could pass it on? I mean, would that taint move genetically into a baby? Will I infect any kids Gwen and I would have with it? If I would, is it possible for one of you to somehow remove it from my sperm so….” He sighed again, feeling rather stupid for even trying to get the questions out. “Stupid question, I guess. I --”

“They’re not stupid questions if you’re contemplating having children with Gwen. Are you?”

He blew out another breath in a whoosh. “Maybe? Possibly? I don’t know. The idea still makes me want to throw-up, but…. I…I guess I am. I mean, she wants kids and she’s great with Jack. I can see her as a mom, Cas. She’ll be good at it, but she doesn’t have too many more years left that she _can_ have kids. We’re in our thirties. It’ll be harder the longer we wait and I don’t want her to miss out on something she really wants because of my stupid blood infection.”

Castiel blinked once. “Your body is cleansed, Sam.” He said it like it was something Sam should have known. “It was cleansed when you were raised. That feeling you had of being free was exactly that. You’re free of the taint of demon blood, your body reset so to speak.”

“Seriously?” Hope began to rise inside him. It had to be too good to be true.

“Yes.”

“Any kids I have with Gwen will be free of the taint and unable to be vessels?”

“Yes.”

“You’re positive? You have to be one-hundred percent on this, Cas.”

“Then I’m more than that. I’m certain.”

Sam laughed. “Man, that’s the best news I’ve had a long time!” A giddy sense of lightheadedness took him over and he sat down in a chair.

“Then I’m glad I could be of assistance.” He glanced towards the front of the house. “Sam…. I meant to tell you before that…I’m sorry she had to be hurt.”

“I know. She’s fine now though.”

“I’m pleased that Gwen has recovered fully.”

“Thanks to you and Abby.”

He looked down at the floor. “Was that all you wished to speak with me about?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel winked from view and Sam began to plan. Telling Gwen had to be perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen felt hot and cold at the same time, and even a little shy to be seriously discussing this issue. She tucked her hands under her thighs in an attempt to warm them and stop their trembling.

“We’re agreed?” His hand slid along her back.

She nodded. “Six months. We’ll give it six months and then if I’m not, we’ll take a break in trying for awhile.”

Sam nodded too. “Right. Does six months sound like a good length of time?”

“Sure.”

“So we’re ready.”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Are you?” Her heart was beating hard and fast in her chest and Gwen almost couldn’t believe they’d been having this conversation. Sam and kids weren’t topics they discussed very often, yet he’d been bringing it up the past month.

Fear and uncertainty rippled across his face. “Yes?”

“If you’re not ready --”

“No, I’m ready. I _am_ ….” He took a long breath. “This has to be now. If we back down, I’ll chicken out and I don’t want to do that to you. You want this and if you want it, so do I. I’ll get over the fear as we go. Dean did with Jo. I mean, I know we’re not them, but I think we just have to do it. If we wait, there’ll never be the perfect time. There’s always going to be something, some danger or fear.”

“Okay.” Leaning over, Gwen kissed him gently on the mouth, then leaned back a fraction, running a hand through his hair. He was scared to death and knew it wouldn’t be the easy road, but was determined to do it anyway. “We’ll try to have a baby.” 

His gulp was loud and very clear. “Agreed.”

They decided to keep the decision to themselves.


	34. Chapter 34

Sam was eating breakfast when Jo came downstairs and to the table. She was still in the clothes she’d worn the day before and looked like she hadn’t slept at all. Her eyes were tired, with slight shadows beneath them, and her manner exhausted. Dean hadn’t been sleeping well and he wondered if that had contributed to Jo’s decision to stay up all night. He heard Dean talking upstairs, probably to Jack. Gwen was still out running.

She laid papers on the table. “You’re good at finding people, Sam.” Pulling out a chair, Jo sank into it, resting an elbow on the table and her chin in her hand.

“I guess.” The papers looked to be a bunch of forms. “What are the papers for?”

“You ever think about the sort of normal jobs we can do with our skills? I mean good, helpful jobs, not things like bartending.”

“Don’t let Ellen hear you say bartending isn’t helpful.”

She cocked her head to one side and ran a hand through her hair. “You know what I mean. Actively using our skills.”

He finished his toast as he thought about that. There were a few professions out there that used their skills. “Of course I’ve wondered what could apply. Why?”

She moved his plate out of the way and pushed the papers closer to him. “What would you think of starting a private investigation business? Or professional investigating, I guess is the new term for it.”

“As in taking pictures of people cheating on their spouses?”

“As in, plus a bunch of other sorts of work.” She nodded, raising a hand and counting off her points as she made them. “One, it’d be using our skills in off-time. Two, it’d give us a legitimate reason to poke around, at least here in South Dakota. Three, it’d bring in funds to offset operating costs. Four --”

He held up a hand. “Okay, okay. You’ve been thinking about it. What brought this on now?”

“Mom and Bobby are right.” She shrugged. “Credit card scams and gambling aren’t going to keep us all in cash for long. Never does. While we’re okay right now due to the sale of a couple properties, that money won’t last long. Gas, food, other expenses…. With the cards, it’s getting to the point technology-wise, that it’ll be easier for the authorities to track us and we hardly want that. We’ve been lucky so far. We need something legit to use as a front, like what Bobby has and what mom and dad had with the Roadhouse. Bobby’s got a working business and that’s what we need to implement. Besides, I’ve been thinking about Jack and him growing up here. If we do this, he won’t have to make up stories about what we do for a living and it might even give him a sense of being normal.” She leaned back, slouching in the chair, her right hand hooking on her left shoulder. “He could take Dean in to school for ‘what my parents do for a living’ day. Dean would love that. He’d jump at the chance to do that dad thing.”

“Jo --” He started to tell her they weren’t normal and never would be, but she was nodding again.

“I know, Sam. I know. It still won’t _be_ normal. I’m not looking to try to give him normal, just the appearance of it. Something like what I had.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip for a few seconds. “It’s a job we can all do. We’re trained. We investigate for a living anyway. All this would do would make it official. There’s no special license required here. There was a movement back in 2011, but it fell through. It’s back up for consideration, but I think we can easily fudge the paperwork if it passes. No way we won’t pass any requirements they’d throw at us. Only thing we need right now is a business license.”

He touched the papers. “That’s these?”

“Yeah. I filled out most of them already.”

“Have you talked to Dean about it?”

She looked down at the table. “No. I wanted to see what you thought about the idea first.”

Honestly, he thought she’d hit on something. They’d be in business for themselves and could take whatever cases they wanted -- like now only with the assumption of actual pay involved. Still, Sam found it interesting she hadn’t mentioned it to Dean yet. Was she afraid Dean would shoot the idea down unless she had backup? “I think it’s a good idea. You thought up a name?”

“I don’t know. WHC Investigations? Nothing cutesy. Whatever we pick has to be serious and our business has to stand up to scrutiny.”

Sam thumbed through the papers. “Tell you what. Let me see what Gwen thinks and then we’ll all take it to Dean together.”

“Okay.”

The shower upstairs started.

“Go get some sleep. You look ready to drop.”

“Yeah. I am actually.” Jo got up and moved towards the stairs.

He reviewed the papers and thought about the best way to bring it to Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen hurried into the house and into the bedroom, reaching under the bed for the weapons locker they kept there. She dragged it out and, as she turned, she saw a man in the corner. She dropped the locker, heart hammering in her chest. Pulling her gun, she aimed it at him. “Turn slowly and look at me.”

The man turned his head. “Gwen?” It was Castiel’s voice and he sounded confused. He faced her.

She stepped back to the bedside table and snapped on the light, blinking at the sudden brightness. Castiel was frowning. “What the hell are you doing in our bedroom?” A glance showed that he was also looking through one of her father’s trunks. One was open, the blanket she’d laid on top of the contents set aside. “And why are you rifling through our things?”

“Technically, they’re still your father’s belongings.”

“Question remains the same. I’d appreciate an answer.”

“You should put the gun away, Gwen. It won’t hurt me.” He took a step towards her.

Her heartbeat quickened a bit more at that single step and she adjusted her grip on the gun. “Maybe not, but it makes me feel better to point it at you.”

“Ahh.” Castiel didn’t move closer, stopping at that step.

“Explain.”

“Gwen --”

“Oh for --” She sighed in frustration. “Turn to the wall and place your hands on it.”

He glanced at the wall. “Am I correct in assuming you wish to,” his brows rose in disbelief, “search me?”

“Just turn around.”

“Dean has never done that. Nor has Sam.”

“Your first time. I’m honored, really.” She rolled her eyes. “Turn around, Castiel.” Going to him, she put the gun away long enough to pat him down as thoroughly as she could.

“What are you looking for,” he asked, starting to stand up straight and turn.

She shoved him back to the wall, or tried to. He was like a statue standing there. “Whatever you might have pilfered.” He didn’t move until she’d answered his question, resuming his position with hands against the wall and legs spread.

“I’ve pilfered nothing.”

“Well, you’re obviously not here for a social call.” Gwen finished the pat down. “You waited until we were all gone. A little explanation would go a long way here.” He had nothing on him, no books or wallet or anything. Even the cell phone she knew he carried was gone. He’d taken nothing, just as he’d said.

“I was curious as to what was in his journals. I know all of you have learned a few things from them in recent days. I’m something of a scholar myself, so I wanted to peruse them.”

“So you ask to do that, you don’t come in while we’re gone. You’ve been around us all long enough to know that, so I have to ask….” She backed away from him, training her gun on him once more. “What were you really looking for?”

He glanced away and back.

“Or was it a case of putting something back? Did you return the journals you’ve been taking while Sam’s trying to read them? It’s pissing him off by the way. It’s three now, but I guess you know that already.”

His expression turned puzzled. “Three? I thought there was just the one that had been lost.”

“Three,” she confirmed, “and that’s only the ones he’s reading. I noticed another gap in the dates, a couple later ones, so it’s probably more like five.”

“I’ve not taken five of your father’s journals, Gwen.” There was a slight emphasis on the word ‘five’.

“I’d like to believe you.” She glanced down at the trunk. “But you’re here and the evidence is pretty damning.”

He glanced at the doorway and appeared to suffer a moment of indecision, staring alternately at the doorway then at her. “Is someone outside waiting on you?”

“No. I ran back alone. Why?” She and Jo were only practicing with various weapons out in the salvage yard while Ellen took Jack and had lunch with Jodie and Sam, Bobby, and Dean were working on some project that required them all to head to the home improvement stores for hours. Gwen wouldn’t be surprised if they built some sort of trapdoor for the house like Bobby had in his.

Castiel’s glance turned to the trunk, then back to her. She read indecision in his entire manner right then. “May I share something with you?”

“Of course.”

“Would you keep it to yourself for the moment?”

She lowered the gun slightly. “Depends on what you tell me.”

“Please. I need an assurance of privacy. At least for awhile.”

How often did Castiel ever say please? This was a thing that happened only rarely and she was frankly surprised he was wanting to confide anything to her. Surely, he’d rather confide in Dean? Or Sam even? Possibly Jo? Slowly, she nodded. “Go on.”

“The world is made of balance.” He held up both hands and made a weighing gesture. “For every good, there is an equal bad somewhere in the world.”

“Yes?” This was kid stuff. Still, she was curious where he was heading with that introduction.

“At times, there is a need for the balance to tip dangerously in one direction or another so that after an event occurs, proper balance is restored.” He illustrated with his hands.

What the heck was he trying to talk around and tell her? “I know. There’s supposed to be a balance kept at all times. Keeping the bad things at bay is part of our job and goes right with that, helping keep balance.”

“Yes. Your job contributes to keeping that balance. Now, angels are agents of God, Fates, and Death. Even in this age of New Heaven, we angels are still required to be agents to those whether we wish to be or not. It’s our job as much as yours is hunting evil creatures.”

She lowered the gun completely and shrugged. “Castiel, what are you telling me? You’re an angel, I know that. You have a job to do, I get that --”

He turned his attention to the floor, a ripple of emotion sliding so quickly across his face that she almost thought she imagined it until he spoke. “I was _there_ , Gwen.”

Gwen took the few remaining steps back to him, the way he said the words chilling her. They were harsh, gruff words, tinged with regret and he almost seemed relieved to have said them. “There,” she repeated. “Where were you?” She put her gun away, tucking her coat back down over it.

“I couldn’t stop it, though I wanted to. They wouldn’t let me. _He_ wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t help any of you, especially you.”

The accident, she realized with a jolt of shock. He was talking about the accident. “What happened out there on that road?” She asked him that, though she wasn’t really sure she wanted to remember. The reports she’d read of the crash had been terrible enough.

His gaze raised to meet hers, that searing blue pinning her in place. “You don’t remember?”

“No. I can’t --” His fingers grazed her forehead and Gwen gasped, remembering everything. Mick, how strange he’d behaved, and the terrible moment when the creature in him had attacked her. She remembered the pain of impact and that question he’d asked. ‘Did he teach you the ritual?’ He must have meant the ritual to bind him again, which had to be what Sam was looking for in Aaron’s journals. Was Castiel also searching for it? Was that why the journals were missing? “You were there?” Her focus had understandably been on Mick and little else. “At the…the scene?” It felt difficult to draw in a breathe and she forced herself to do it.

“Yes. I was helpless to do anything but watch until it was over and even then all I was allowed to do was call 911. I’m sorry, Gwen. If I could have spared all of you the pain I would have.”

She swallowed hard and rested her hands on her hips, drumming her fingers, closing her eyes for a few seconds. “Who had you helpless?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. Whoever it was put me and the rest of my family through hell. I’d like a few words with him or her.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t tell you this so you can try for revenge or anything of the sort. I told you so you’ll understand later and maybe you can….”

“Can what?”

“Share your understanding.”

“Share it?”

Castiel squared his shoulders, chin tilting up a fraction. “Do you now blame me for not saving you?” A carefully spoken query.

He’d said he wasn’t able. Why would she blame him for that? “Should I? You said someone or several someones had you incapacitated. Why would I blame you?”

Relief tread across his features. He sighed. “I’d forgotten not everyone subscribes to certain methods of blame.”

“Wait….” She turned her head a little, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. “You think Sam will blame you when he finds out you were there?” He could be right at that. Sam and Dean might very well put a label of blame upon Castiel for actions out of his control, yet when the emotion of the moment of reveal had passed, and all bits and pieces of information known, that label could be negated.

“He and Dean both,” he confirmed. “They will. I know it and understand it’s how they are. They’ll be upset that I didn’t help you or stop it from happening, but I’m coming to realize that I can’t be the human friend they want me to be, Gwen. I’m not human. I’m an angel and as such….” He looked away, regret and sadness now there on his face. “I have to act in ways they don’t understand in the course of my job, do things they can’t comprehend because of my job.”

“Am I to interpret that to mean that job could include being a hindrance to an ongoing, important investigation into a creature that can tear up the world if left unrestrained?”

The truth was in his eyes. He was behind some of it at least. “It could be interpreted as such. However, I’m not the only…being…on the playing field. There are others, more powerful than I, with a stake in matters that are above me in rank. I mentioned balance and order before. It all plays together in the end.”

“The ones who kept you from helping are still…in the game? They’re watching?”

“Yes.”

If she was interpreting him correctly, he was withholding information from them, but was being coerced somehow into cooperating with that agenda. “I see.” She cleared her throat. “I want those journals back, Castiel, from wherever they are. They’re mine. It’s wrong to take them.” She held up a hand at his protest. “I don’t mind you, or anyone else, reading them, but they need to be back here. That information, whatever is in there, needs to be returned to me, the rightful owner. I don’t care how you do it. Make it happen and soon.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll keep what you told me between us for now, but it’ll have to come out eventually. You know that. I could accidentally let it slip.”

“I understand.”

“And if whoever was behind tying your hands is also behind the information vacuum we’ve been seeing regarding the soul stealer…. That’s important information we need. You can talk to us. You can tell us what’s going on with you. Surely Dean has conveyed that to you? We might not understand the whole big picture you have to consider, but we can at least listen.”

“Dean has mentioned being willing to listen before. I’ll consider full disclosure.”

“It might not be as bad as you think.” She’d make sure there were no angel swords sitting around before that meeting however. Just in case things didn’t go well. “Waiting to talk to us all won’t help.”

His lips twitched. “You’re a positive woman.”

“It’s a curse.”

“I am sorry you were hurt, Gwen.”

“I’m okay now.”

“I’ll see what I can do about the journals.”

She sat for awhile after he left, thinking about what he’d said. Balance. What other powerful creature talked about balance and could potentially keep an angel in line? There was one she could think of immediately and only because Dean had mentioned it before. Death. Lucifer had raised Death, and now he walked free on the earth.

It wasn’t a comfort to consider that being having an interest in what was happening here. Death was…death. She shifted uneasily. Dean may be a little blasé about Death, but Gwen wanted nothing to do with him on a personal, one-to-one basis.

She hugged herself. Was there any way dealing with the soul stealer wasn’t going to end badly for at least one of them?

~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at possible cases could take minutes or hours depending on the details they had at hand. Dean was bored with the process, ready to take something already and head out. His arm was itching like crazy around the healing gunshot wound, Gwen and Sam were acting more like newlyweds than they ever had, Jo was talking toilet training for Jack, and Jack had developed the ability to somehow climb out of his crib without assistance. Dean had woken that morning to Jack standing by the bed patting his face with a hand and laughing. Right after breakfast, he’d lowered the mattress to the lowest level, but didn’t have any hopes it’d stop Jack from climbing out. Jo had lowered it once already.

“Lacey White couldn’t have fought him off.” Jo’s words were softly spoken and firmly certain.

“Women fight off attackers all the time,” Sam pointed out.

“No, think about it.”

To Dean’s eyes, Jo looked slightly uncomfortable. “Go on.”

Gwen crossed her arms, her gaze thoughtful.

“She’s my size.” Jo pointed at one paper. “It says right there. If her attacker was possessed like we think, she couldn’t fight him off. She’s not a hunter, has no training to protect herself. Her attacker was somewhere between Sam’s size and rough build and yours, Dean.”

Gwen began to nod. “She’s right. I mean, I’m trained and if Sam wants me down, I’m down. No amount of struggle changes that.”

Interesting tidbit. Dean noticed a faint hint of a flush on Sam’s cheekbones. Also interesting.

Sam cleared his throat. “She did fight him off though. The report says she did.”

“Why was she able to?” Jo looked at them all and shrugged. “Back in Duluth, I wasn’t able to fight Sam off when he was possessed and I’m pretty sure that even with all of my training and the dirty fighting tactics I’ve learned since I still couldn’t fight him off now. Male upper body strength pretty much trumps female lower body strength.” Stretching out a hand, she searched the papers, finally tugging one out of the pile. “Here. It say that he had her on the ground. What’s the first thing women are told about attacks?”

Gwen answered her. “Don’t let him get you on the ground or, one way or another, it’s all over. You’re raped or dead, probably both.” She shook her head. “Jo’s right. There’s no way. Lacey’s story doesn’t hold up.”

They were right. Dean grasped Jo’s arm and led her over to stand beside Sam. Stepping back, he mentally went through what Lacey White had said about the attack in the report. It didn’t make sense. “You’re right. What are we looking at then? Was she possessed herself and this is just a case of a little demon on demon violence?”

Gwen rested her chin on her hand. “Or she’s not even human to begin with and this fits with the soul stealer attacks.”

He nodded. “Okay, let’s run with that. Let’s say it was Mick. How did she get away? She’s obviously not soulless or has a piece missing.”

A toy came flying over the baby gate at the door into Jack’s room, bounced off the wall and rolled to the bottom of the gate. Jack spit out his pacifier and tried to reach for it. “Dada,” he cried. He’d either been tossing toys out of his room every few minutes or standing at the gate trying to get their attention.

Dean stepped over, picked up the toy, and tossed it back into the room. He suspected that if Jack really wanted to get their attention, he’d climb over the gate. This was just him seeing what he could get away with.

Sam crossed his arms on the table top. “Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it’s like whatever happened with me. He tried and wasn’t able to, so he fled.” He sighed. “But why would he flee? He could’ve just killed her.”

“That’s a good question. What do we do about Lacey White? Go and investigate? Or let it go?” Gwen began gathering the papers they’d been studying.

“Investigate.” Dean shrugged. “If she knows something, we have to. She’s only a seven hour drive away. Leave early, spend the night and head back?” He tugged one picture towards him and looked at it. “You know, I know this chick from somewhere.” Dean tapped his finger to the picture. “I’ve seen her before, just can’t remember where.”

And in the middle of the night, it hit him. Getting out of bed, he went downstairs and into Sam and Gwen’s room. The door slammed against the wall, waking both of them, but Dean was too busy opening one trunk and lifting out the box of pictures to say anything. He turned, the box in his hands.

The light came on. Gwen was on her knees, knife in one hand and Sam was sitting, gun pointed at Dean.

“It’s just me,” he told them and took the box into the living room. Dean set it on the floor and crouched down, opening it and rifling through the pictures.

“What are you looking for,” Gwen asked, pulling on a robe as she joined him.

Sam was right behind her.

“Something that might help us.” He was beginning to think he’d never find that single picture when suddenly it was there in his hands, one of the few pictures Aaron Bennett had seen fit to label. On it was written ‘Bill and Brenda’. With a satisfied grin, he held it up so they could both see it. “Look familiar?”

“The girlfriend he had before he met Ellen.” Sam took the picture. “That’s her, that’s Lacey White.”

“And she looks exactly the same.” Gwen took the picture. “I think the odds of her being a supernatural creature shot up exponentially.”

“A supernatural creature hanging out with the three musketeers.”

“Coincidentally, she was Bill’s girlfriend during the period where his parents died, which means she was there during the soul stealer stuff.” Sam sounded excited and Dean could feel that excitement himself. This was a break, one they needed.

He smiled. “Miss Lacey White here we come.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel wasn’t sure why he’d unburdened himself to Gwen. Her calm acceptance of what he’d told her made him feel that perhaps it all could work out. She accepted that he wasn’t human, that he dealt with matters far above her pay grade as a human -- a thing he thought Sam and Dean, _especially_ Dean, tended to forget. Her naturally sunny nature soothed his anxiety and weariness and, for a moment, he’d almost shared specifics.

Almost.

She knew enough. She was privy to the fact that while he was involved, _he_ wasn’t plucking the strings, and perhaps when the time came, she would intercede with Sam and Dean on his behalf.

He found her attitude refreshing. She wanted little to do with angels and the ‘behind the scenes’ matters. She had her role as a hunter and was content to do it without knowledge of more. The only knowledge she wanted was what it took to deal with the latest creature of crisis.

Unlike her father.

The more Castiel learned about Aaron, the more this truth became evident. Aaron had sought knowledge, become almost obsessed with learning more to the point that he’d unearthed those Enochian symbols. He’d had no assistance in that endeavor, unless one counted the occasional demon he’d trapped and tortured. Aaron had been just that smart and driven, telling himself that he was working for the greater good; his improvements would aid hunters everywhere; he could turn the tables on a tide of evil he’d seen starting to rush in. He’d been on a quest to cram as much knowledge as possible into his mind and some of that knowledge hadn’t been the good sort. He’d sometimes dabbled in what other hunters would call questionable information from sources that should be destroyed.

Castiel thought it might even have been a good thing in a way that Mia had gone after him, as her appearance had distracted him from that endeavor. He’d turned his intellect elsewhere. If he’d continued on his path of learning, he could have become a threat to everything that had happened since. The sort of information Aaron had dealt in might have made John Winchester’s search for Azazel easier. He might even have uncovered information that would have aided Sam and Dean over the years. The timeline would have been changed certainly.

The one journal Castiel had in his possession told the first part of that story. It was a story he wondered if Gwen would be disappointed to read. It clearly displayed the flawed man Aaron had been and how he’d become seduced by knowledge. Then again, she seemed to accept that those she knew and had known were flawed and human. She’d connected with Sam at his most flawed and rolled with the changes that had come to their relationship. She’d weathered Dean, Jo, and Ellen at their best and worst, and taken the truth of her past with nothing less than her usual cheerful manner. Maybe the respect she’d developed for Aaron wouldn’t die at the truth of the man he’d been.

True, he’d been loving, kind, and gentle with his friends and family, but he’d also been a genius, with all of the arrogance that such an intellect could bring. He had been curt, direct to the point of tactlessness, impatient, and, yes, arrogant. By now, Brenda, or Lacey as she was calling herself now, would be sharing that and other information with Sam and Dean.

As soon as she’d surfaced, Castiel had gone to see her, yet not let her see him. He’d watched her, reviewed the file on her, and made the risky decision to not keep her hidden. He was weary of his assignment from Death, leaving the location she was at and searching out Balthazar. He found him in one classroom in heaven, talking to two giggly angels in female vessels. The two angels fled at Castiel’s approach and he closed the door behind them.

“Give them back,” Castiel demanded, watching Balthazar closely.

He sat on the table and crossed his arms. “Give what back?”

“The journals. You stole them and Gwen thinks I did it.”

“To be fair, you did take one book.”

“I borrowed it.”

“Does Gwen know you borrowed it?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then it’s called stealing, Cas.”

“I’m going to put it back.”

“Still called stealing if the owner is initially unaware of the ‘borrowing’.” He used air quotes on the last word.

“You put those back and I’ll put the one I borrowed --”

“Stole.”

“--back.” Castiel scowled.

“Don’t be a grumpy Gus at me. You stole first and some sterling example of angelic behavior that is. I’m merely imitating you.”

“You’re blaming your own propensity towards thievery on me?”

“Yes. That’s my story and I’ll stick to it.”

Castiel sighed. “Return the journals to where you found them.”

“Tell me why you took the one journal,” he countered.

“It’s complicated, Balthazar. There are things in it that the Winchesters can’t know yet.”

“Then I’m doing the same thing, only the ones I took have things they can’t know. Aaron Bennett was a treasure trove of knowledge forbidden to humans. He had no business with a lot of what’s on those pages. Some of it, I can’t pinpoint where he even found it.”

“He knew a Watcher.”

A smirk tugged his lips. “I was right then. How about that, Cassy?”

“You get a gold star. Put them back. We’ll deal with the consequences when they come around.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “You’re going to bug me about this until I do it, aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

With a put upon sigh, Balthazar stood. “Fine, but I’ll put them back one at a time, like Sam just missed seeing them there in his frantic searches.”

Exactly Castiel’s plan for that final journal. By his calculations, there shouldn’t be too much longer before he could return the journal and the original text and let the last days of the soul stealer running free play out. Three months maybe? Perhaps four at most. As much damage as the creature was causing all of the country, it couldn’t be much longer. The human media had taken notice, deciding there was a serial killer loose. They’d fixated upon Mick Richardson.

He supposed it was easier for them to think a human could do all of those things they attributed to him. The truth was more than many human minds could handle.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lacey White looked just like the picture of Brenda, Bill Harvelle’s girlfriend. Dean was a little freaked by that. It was as if no time had gone by for her.

Dean held up the picture, not wasting much time on the cover story he and Sam had come up with. It was more important that they get her talking. “You might want to spill, sister.”

Lacey White’s shoulders slumped and she sat heavily in the chair beside the door. In seconds, she seemed far older than the early twenties woman she looked like. “May I see that picture?”

He handed it to her.

She studied it, a slight fond quirk to her lips. “Bill Harvelle. Now there’s a blast from the past. Where did you get this?”

“Aaron Bennett’s daughter.”

“He has a daughter? Wow. Good for him. How are Aaron and Bill these days?”

“Dead,” Sam informed her.

Her lips parted, but the news didn’t seem to shock her, only make her slightly sad. After a second, she nodded. “Was it in the line?”

“Line?”

“Of duty, of course. Hunting. Were they working?”

“Bill was. Aaron…had other trouble of the female variety.”

“He _was_ a handsome devil. How did you know Bill?”

“Our dad did,” Dean supplied. “We’re more acquainted with his wife and daughter.”

“Bill had a daughter, too?” She smiled. It was a true sort of smile, her pleasure in the news genuine. “I’m glad. He wanted a family. I’d thought he’d be a good father. Did he marry Ellen or was it another woman?”

“You know Ellen?” He blinked.

“I introduced them in a roundabout way. I thought she’d be a good match for him. A strong, independent woman. I can’t bear children, you see, and with everything that happened, I decided the best thing to do was to leave.”

Sam half laughed. “Who else do you know, Lacey? Or is it Brenda?”

“Either. Who are you wondering about?”

“Campbells. Neal and Patricia.”

Her nod was slow. “Yes. I knew all of them.”

Dean stepped close to her. “Care to explain why you knew them and what you are? I mean, it’s obvious you’re not human, so what are you?”

She didn’t seem afraid at all, staring up at him with a gaze that was clear and calm. “Did you think your angel friend Castiel was the only angel to ever have his powers taken away?”

“You’re no angel.”

“Not in a couple thousand years, no. I was at one time. Shared a few things I wasn’t supposed to and got the back of Michael’s hand. Not literally, mind you. He turned the tap, drained away the powers and left me with just enough to not age. Periodically, I check in with the hunting community, see what’s developed, but for the most part I live a nearly human life over and over, the penance Michael handed out to me. It’s not an ideal situation. I can only stay in one area a few years before I have to move on.”

Understanding shone in Sam’s eyes. “You’re a Watcher.”

“I was. The others had their powers taken completely and died within a generation or so. A few managed to reproduce and have descendants somewhere on earth today.” She reached up and indid the clasp holding back her long blond hair, tossing the clasp onto the table where she’d placed her keys a few minutes earlier. “Before you ask, I can’t help you stop him.”

“Him?”

“The soul stealer. Michael did some mind surgery on me. I can share nothing more than what I originally shared way back before my fall. I’m sorry.”

“That Michael.” Dean snorted. “What an archangel.” He wanted to swear loud and long at that. They weren’t going to get anything from Lacey, or Brenda, or whatever her name was.

“He’s the best of them all, Dean. He was right to stop me, to stop all of us.”

“And leave you like this for eternity?”

“Until out father returns, yes.”

He changed the subject. Discussing the archangel Michael would lead them to a place he didn’t want to go with other matters at hand. “Can you tell us what happened back then with the soul stealer?”

Lacey studied him, then Sam. “We should adjourn to my living room. Grab some beers from the fridge and I’ll tell you what I remember.”

Perhaps this wouldn’t be a dead end after all.


	35. Chapter 35

When they were all settled in Lacey’s small living room, with beers and a bowl of chips that she’d put together, Lacey sighed. “I’ll start at the beginning. I met Bill Harvelle in a biker bar.” Her smile hinted at fond memories. “He’d been traveling for days, hair all wild and a good growth of beard, yet there was something about him. Some hunters have that appeal, you know?”

Sam looked at Dean, puzzled. A lot of hunters were in need of a shower and clean clothes when they blew into town. Dean shrugged.

Lacey must have seen Sam’s puzzled look, for she quirked a brow. “Or, maybe you don’t. I was looking to check back in with the hunting community and he was convenient at first, a new contact in a field that had changed since the last time I’d looked in on it. Through him, I met Aaron, then Neal and Patricia. They were close, all of them, though I got the feeling part of Neal and Aaron’s friendship was mostly to thumb their noses at their parents. There was some sort of rivalry between the Campbell family and the Bennett family, one that had started a long time before then.”

“We knew about the rivalry.” Sam took a drink of his beer, then set it on one coaster on the coffee table. He’d taken it to be polite and put her at ease, not to actually drink it himself.

“It was a silly thing when I finally learned the details, something about a missing piece of parchment that the Bennetts accused the Campbells of stealing and the Campbells denied ever doing that…. I digress, however, and I think I need to go a bit further back. Quite a bit actually.” She relaxed back against the couch cushions, crossing her legs and resting her beer bottle against her knee. “A long time ago, I aided a couple hunters in trapping the soul stealer, or soul eater as he’s known in some regions.”

“It’s the same creature?” That was something they’d speculated about.

“Yes. One and the same. We’re talking centuries ago and the location was approximately Siberia. It’s not where he originated, only where we ran him down.”

“The ritual,” Dean prodded.

She shook her head. “I’ll get to that and you’ll understand why I don’t just tell you what I know about it. The first box was transported all over Europe for centuries. For awhile, the Roman Catholic Church even had it, but their involvement, and how it was retrieved, is a story all on it’s own.”

Sam swallowed his inquiry on that, though it was a tantalizing tidbit of information. He suspected she could be easily distracted in past events. “Did you give the hunters the symbols and words?”

“No. They already had those. I’d been rendered powerless by Michael long before this incident. The box was opened in Italy over a century later and when the soul stealer was returned to the box, an enterprising hunter added to the spell, and brought the box to Spain, where he was freed again when a carriage accident smashed the box. A new one was made, he was captured and gradually, his prison was brought to this country.”

“And every time it’s been Campbell kin putting him back under?”

“Bloodline, if not name. The original hunters took an oath. Oaths were a big thing for many centuries, unlike now, where men swear oaths they don’t mean and renege at the drop of a hat. They promised to remain vigilant and take care of the threat if he was released. Then the Bennett and Harvelle lines were added in later incidents, joining forces to take care of him.”

“He goes after the bloodlines?” Shifting in his seat, Dean leaned forward, forearms on his knees. Sam could tell that Dean’s thoughts were racing over the information just as fast as his were, trying to put it all together in something that made complete sense.

“Out of revenge for them having bound him from my understanding. He’s a bloodthirsty creature.”

“The ones who bind him, does it have to be people from those bloodlines?” Dean asked the question before Sam could. “Or can it be any old hunter who has the information?”

She frowned, teeth grazing her lower lip. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard that it _has_ to be those of that bloodline every time, merely that if your bloodline ever had a hand in binding him, he’d eventually hunt you or your descendants down…and it’s playing out.”

“What do you mean?” Dean also set his bottle down, mostly untouched.

“Well…. I keep my ear to the supernatural world a bit more these days. Events the past decade have made that a wise decision. I heard about what he did to the Leshie that helped a century ago. And the Lugat? Helped as well. He’s settling old scores and said as much to me when he had me down on the ground trying to rip my vessel’s soul from me. He seemed so certain that he had all the time in the world to deal with all of us, a far cry from the last few times he tried to kill me.”

Sam perked up at that. “But you’re obviously unharmed and have remained unharmed. He couldn’t take the soul and even ran away without killing you. Why is that?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Because the souls of filled angelic vessels are out of bounds for him. They’re the only souls he can’t take as food. I may not count myself as an angel and heaven may not either, but I have enough of the power remaining to keep my vessel’s soul safe. Watchers were angels just like the rest of them, with a need for a vessel when on earth. My vessel’s soul is still with me, though I can barely feel her there.” Her gaze lowered briefly to the table. “Another bit of Michael’s judgment on me. He found it highly important that I remember she was there.”

“Does that rule about filled vessels stretch to archangel vessels?”

“Perhaps, but there aren’t any filled archangel vessels that I know of. I heard about Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael. That’s all of them. I mourned for them, especially Michael and Gabriel.” Her attention slid over to Sam. “However, a strong will seems to repel him. Aaron had a strong will. He had to have to go up against his father over the years. The two fought like crazy over everything. Two opinionated men….” Lacey set her beer bottle on the table. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the rules for archangel vessels, if they can be taken when not filled or not. I’m not ‘in the know’ you understand. Anyway, he killed Bill’s parents, then came for me. I left. End of my story.”

A sliver of annoyance pierced Sam. “And the ritual? What do you know about it?”

“I know that even if I told you the original form, you couldn’t use it. It was changed every time it was used, hunters improving it, making it stronger by this word and symbol or that herb. It’s virtually unrecognizable from the original form.”

He drew out the pictures they had and handed them to her, along with a marker. “Circle anything you don’t know, or what’s changed.”

She took them and spread the pictures on the table. “You’re serious.”

“Damn serious,” Dean told her.

As she studied the pictures, her face paled. “The symbols here, here, and here.” She circled them carefully.

“Yes?” Sam leaned forward somewhat eagerly, hoping they were about to have confirmation of what they’d suspected for awhile now.

“They’re an ancient language most humans know little of called Enochian. This particular form is the oldest Enochian I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure what the symbols mean exactly.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Can you guess for us?”

Her glance up at Sam was honest and open. “I can try, but my translation may be very off. Like I said, they’re ancient and changed from the original symbols and it’s been a very long time since I’ve read Enochian at all.”

“There was Enochian on the original?” Implying that someone had gone further back, perhaps for more power.

“Yes, of course. The symbols were one of the things we weren’t supposed to share. Men were supposed to come up with their own ways to deal with him and we interfered. You could even say our symbols made him more powerful when he was inevitably released.”

Dean held up a hand, suspicion in his eyes. “Are you telling me you guys are responsible for him being that soul munching machine he is today? That without your Enochian symbols he would’ve maybe eaten a couple people every now and then and been good?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.” She sat up straight. “I did say Michael was right to discipline us, Dean. The passing of time has shown to me how our actions changed the balance. We were wrong and I’ve been trying to help on this issue ever since.”

“Once more, you angels make the mess and we have to clean it up.” He looked at Sam. “Can I kill the bitch, Sam?”

“No.” Though this information annoyed him as much as it did Dean. “The translation, Lacey?”

“The originals gave the ritual enough power to bind him and keep him bound, yet when he was released, he had to pass through the remnants of that power. These look like protection symbols almost, wards, the sort that can keep out demons and other creatures. They’re power symbols certainly, I’m just unsure what they do.” Her voice faltered as she spoke. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. If I did know, it’s one of the things Michael made me forget.”

“And the rest of the symbols?”

She circled two more symbols. “These are new from the last incarnation of the spell and I’ve never seen them before. Do you have the spoken part of the spell with you?”

Sam brought out a final paper from his jacket and handed it to her. “That’s what we’ve got so far.”

With the marker, she circled two words and drew arrows to different places in the order. “These two go here and here.” Four more words were circled. “These weren’t in the last incarnation of the spell either. Aaron must have added them and those symbols.” She hesitated, finger touching a picture of the smashed box lid. “What’s this dark spot on the lid? Was it paint, dirt, grease?”

“We don’t know. Could’ve been old blood maybe.” It was another thing they’d been speculating on, whether that smudge was intentional or an accident and what it could be. Sam’s mind kept going back to the idea of it being old blood.

“I’ll circle it anyway. You did say anything different.”

Though they prodded further, that was all she could tell them, which was a sight more than what they’d had. They now knew what they needed to focus on.

She got up and returned with a fresh beer for herself, not appearing concerned that they’d barely touched their beers. “I’m going to guess you want to know about them all now.”

“If you could.” Dean sat back. He was a bit more relaxed now that their main business was finished. “We don’t know many people who really knew them.”

“The only ones we know of have a parental bias.”

“Okay. Neal and Patty Campbell. They were very in love. It was one of the first things anyone noticed about them. Neal came from a long line of hunters and Patty did, too. They were extremely loyal. Bill was good at the job and carefree…until his parents died, and Aaron….” She sat down, her gaze suddenly gone intense like Castiel’s did, the green of her eyes super bright. “It’s him you really want to know about right now. The others are peripheral.”

How did she know that? Was it the last tiny bit of angel in her that told her?

“Aaron was smart and attractive, arrogant yet sweet, and trouble.”

“Trouble? How so?” Did she mean in a bad way?

She laughed, features relaxing into a smile. “Oh, I didn’t mean it to sound bad! Aaron was just so curious about everything. If he got an idea, he’d research it to death. He’d look into anything, like he didn’t comprehend the danger to himself. Even when Bill’s parents were killed, I don’t think he realized he was in danger. Fearless, I guess is what I’m trying to say. He was fearless.”

Not entirely true according to his journals. Aaron Bennett had suffered from some fears, but he’d done the jobs anyway. Sam realized that they already had an understanding of Aaron that this woman didn’t have.

“He knew more about esoteric lore than most humans and had the smarts to remember it. It came in handy. He loved the job, loved that he was helping people.”

Sam glanced at Dean. Would Aaron have changed his tune as the years had gone by? Would he, like they, have gone through a long period of dissatisfaction before finally finding the enjoyment of the life again? If he’d lived through Mia’s attack, would he have begun to feel discouraged by that? Or would having Gwen with him have bolstered him, gotten him through rough times?

“But he could be a know-it-all jerk. It sort of goes with the intellect I think. When did he die?”

“Early eighties.”

“How old was his daughter?”

“About a month.”

Sadness crossed her face. “I’m sorry he didn’t live to see her grow up. I think having a family would have matured him in a way he needed.”

They talked for awhile longer, but Lacey was done giving out information. She made references to watching all of her human friends die around her and wished them luck in stopping the soul stealer.

“You could actively help us,” Sam suggested.

“I’ve given all the help I can. I’m obsolete in regards to him.”

If Aaron had made all those changes, Sam thought she was right. She _was_ obsolete and they were still on their own. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Talking with Lacey had taken some of the tension from Dean. While they still really had a big pile of nothing, they had less of a pile of it than before and Sam kept telling him they were making progress even when it didn’t seem like it. Their soul stealer board had spilled across onto the second half of the cork wall and was starting to bleed onto other walls, too. He supposed it was a good thing. It meant that they were getting closer to being ready to face him. Once that happened, they’d have to find him, though Dean suspected he was going to find them. It was always what seemed to happen, usually before they were ready.

Getting up, he went to the wall, studying the ritual pieces and the corrections they’d made. He’d be glad when they got this mother contained again and could devote energy to other things.

Turning, he moved a newspaper and spied some charts beneath it that didn’t look familiar. Picking them up, Dean studied them. For a moment, he couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, but then he understood, eyes widening with disbelief. No. It couldn’t be. Yet the more he looked at it the more he was certain what he was seeing. The span of charts was from mid-October to now, mid-January. He slid a speculative glance Sam’s way and laid the charts down, suppressing a grin. He was right, he knew he was. Sam tilted his chair back a fraction further, deeply engrossed in the book he held. When the chair was in the most precarious position, balanced on the back legs, Dean asked as casually as possible, “You got Gwen knocked up yet?”

He was rewarded with Sam and the chair going over backwards with a yell from Sam as he lost his balance. Sam hit the floor hard, his head only inches from the wall. Items on the bookshelves rattled and Sam groaned.

Gwen, then Jo appeared on the stairs. They appraised the situation at a glance, Jo rolling her eyes and heading back downstairs without saying anything. Gwen came up the rest of the way and stood at the top of the stairs, her hand on the railing. “You okay,” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Uh-huh,” Sam managed to gasp out before sucking in a wheezing breath.

“I told him not to lean that chair back like that.” Actually, he’d never said that and tended to lean chairs back that way himself. Dean studied her, searching for anything different about her that might indicate their efforts had been successful already. She didn’t look any different, no weight gain or ‘glowing’ look about her that Jo had claimed was just extra perspiration.

“Right. Okay.” She left them alone and when Dean heard the door at the bottom of the stairs shut, he sat down and waited for Sam to get off the floor.

“Tell me she knows.”

“Of course she knows.” Sam righted the chair and sat down. “How did _you_ know? We’re not telling anyone we’re trying.”

“I am a trained investigator.” Picking up the charts, he laid them in front of Sam.

He sighed. “I should have thrown those away.”

“How long you been seriously talking kids with her?”

“Awhile.”

“Awhile? How long is that? One month? Two?” He indicated the charts with a hand.

“Since about Christmas.”

Dean nodded. “I see.” Yet the charts were for two months _before_ Christmas.

“It seemed like time,” Sam said, avoiding his eyes.

“Sure.”

“I mean, she can’t have vessels. Cas already said that.”

Rather than try to drag any further explanation from him, Dean went with one-word answers and grunts, letting Sam say what he wanted without prodding. “Mmm.”

“And I talked to him about, you know, about _me_. He said it’ll be okay, that any kids will be fine.”

Sam said it like he thought it was a lie. Maybe it was. For Sam’s sake, he hoped Castiel hadn’t lied. “Uh-huh.”

He went quiet, then crossed his arms on the table, the subject shifting abruptly. “Dean, something’s up with Cas. When we were talking…. He said he’d meant to tell me before that he was sorry she got hurt and he’s glad she’s okay now. I thought Cas was concerned about Gwen, but the wording, the way he said it has been bugging me. He said he was sorry she ‘had to be hurt’. Like it was part of some plan. That make sense to you?”

Dean crossed his arms on the table as well. He’d refrained from talking about the events that had led to Gwen’s extended hospital stay, not wanting to bring it all back for Sam or Gwen, but maybe it was time to do just that. “It may have been. Think about it.”

“About?”

“The pieces.” Getting up, he found the notebook he’d been keeping all of his thoughts on the subject in and opened it. He began to lay it out for Sam, those things he’d noticed, all those jagged edges that fit together far too smoothly. “I think we were all manipulated, especially Gwen.”

“By Cas?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s got that kind of power, to make all of that line up, nor do I see him manipulating us willingly. He may be running the place, but he sure didn’t get a power boost up to Michael’s levels and I think it’d take those sort of levels or higher to coordinate all that.”

“What’re you thinking then, if not Cas?”

He flipped pages, looking at all of the information, some even things he wasn’t sure were connected. “Who do we know that’s concerned with natural order and manipulates people like pawns on a damn chess board?”

Sam looked away and sighed. “Death. Wonderful. Just what we need.”

“Exactly. Cas never did elaborate on New Heaven, but since Death was far more powerful than any of the angels, needed binding to do Lucifer’s bidding, and is now loose? I’ll bet you a crisp new hundred that he’s the one pulling the strings this time, working things out to whatever is in his plan.” If it was Death, he was probably still manipulating matters.

“So you think Cas is a pawn too?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. That nerdy little angel may have won the war, but I think he can still be bullied by Death and anything else higher than he is.”

The plan was to talk to Cas, but just like last time, he didn’t answer. It was frustrating when he did that. Dean made a resolution to discuss that tendency with him when he finally did show up.

A few days later, as he and Sam were watching tv, Jo dropped a couple file folders between them on the couch. She had Jack propped on one hip. He was playing half-heartedly with a ring of car keys that Dean thought looked rather like his.

“What’re these,” Dean asked, picking up the top folder.

Sam picked up another one and opened it.

Gwen leaned on the couch. “Doppelganger in Tennessee.”

“Disembodied voices in New Hampshire and gremlins in Iowa.”

Dean glanced back at Jo. “The cars?”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s…something…on…the wing of the plane!” Jo delivered the line in a passable Shatner, albeit in a higher voice.

“Oh, _those_ sort of gremlins.”

“Yeah, smartass. Those sort of gremlins. Looks like it might be an infestation even.”

Gwen came around the couch and sat on the arm of it beside Sam. “Last sign of an infestation was eighty years ago.”

“Hibernation period?” Sam flipped pages. “Could be a nest just woke up or eggs that hatched.”

While the last thing Dean wanted to do was investigate airplanes, Sam had that look in his eyes…and was reaching for his iPad to start actual research.

“So?” Jo’s brows rose.

“So what?”

“Get packed.”

Dean slid down on the couch a little, stretching his legs out. “Disembodied voices could be something.” He held up his hands. “Let me have him. Come to daddy, buddy.”

Jo eased Jack down to him. It was obvious it was nearly nap time, as Jack snuggled right down against his chest, letting go of the ring of keys to curl his hands around the fabric of Dean’s shirt. He yawned and sighed, going boneless and limp in seconds.

“The voices are probably man-made. They usually are.” Sam made a grunting noise, busy at his task now.

“But the doppelganger….” Dean wiggled a foot.

“Gremlins, Dean. We’ve never looked into actual gremlins before. This is an opportunity. We’re taking it.”

“Bump it to Sophie. Give her something to keep her mind off Mick a little.”

“Give her the disembodied voices,” Gwen suggested. “Her dad went back to Alaska so she’s on her own.”

Chris had decided there was nothing he could do for Sophie and, while he loved her, being around her the way she was now hurt. She wasn’t the same daughter he’d raised and it had hit him hard. Dean could relate. Dealing with Sam when he’d been fully soulless had been horrible. He wondered how much worse it was for a parent to witness that sort of behavior. Sophie wasn’t completely without her soul, but the difference in her was enough to be obvious.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said.

“Sam.” Dean rolled his head on the couch cushion to look at him.

Sam pointed at him. “New experiences.”

“Like I haven’t had enough new experiences in the past year? Feeding a baby, clothing a baby, bathing --”

“On the job, Dean.”

“Oh. _Those_ sort of new experiences.” He looked at Jo. “Gremlins it is.”

Three days later, Sam pushed the last bite of chicken around his plate an announced in an almost guilty tone, “I don’t think it’s gremlins.”

Glancing up from the remains of his greasy meatloaf, Dean wondered if he should take antacid now or wait until the indigestion already evident really reached a fever pitch. He should’ve gotten a burger. The bun would’ve soaked up the grease much better than the tiny stale dinner roll he’d gotten with his meal. “You got me all excited for gremlins and now you’re telling me it’s not gremlins?”

“Yeah.” He handed over the iPad. “Take a look at that. It’s a local legend, a _forgotten_ local legend at that. I got a vague story from a girl at the library and she gave me that link.”

The page wasn’t long and took seconds to read. “You think it’s a ghost?”

“Maybe.”

“The ghost of an engineer who went postal.”

“Could be.”

“Okay. I’d buy that if it was just the airplanes that he did work with, but it’s the cars, trains, buses. If it has a battery and travels it’s not working.” Including his Impala. Poor baby, stuck at the motel while he and Sam had to hoof it all over town. They were both getting blisters. Dean snapped his fingers. “I got it. It’s Horace Pinker.”

Sam stared at him a beat and shoved his plate to the side, abandoning the last couple bites of green beans and potato. “I weep sometimes for your taste in movies.”

“What? Shocker is a classic.”

“In your opinion.”

“Fine Ebert. Gwen liked it.”

“She may have been on the other end of the call last night as you and Jo synchro-watched the movie, but that doesn’t mean she liked it.”

“She said she did.”

“In a sarcastic tone.”

“No.”

“Yeah. She didn’t like it.”

“How did I miss that?”

“Probably because Jo was saying things to you that were completely inappropriate for speakerphone.”

Dean grinned at the memory. “They _were_ wildly inappropriate, weren’t they?”

“I needed ear bleach.”

“What do you think of the concept though? Could it apply here?” He shoved his own plate aside. 

“Of course it could. You know that.”

“Then let’s take a closer look at that engineer.”

He flipped a few bills on the table, paid the check on the way out, and headed towards the town hall. There had to be some sort of record of the engineer somewhere.

~~~~~~~~~~

As with Dean’s usual closer looks, this one ended in salting and burning bones and Dean and Sam both getting thrown around the cemetery. They’d broken into a caretaker’s shed for shovels rather than carry their own all the way from the motel and nearly gotten caught twice while digging.

Sam limped through the drugstore across the street from their motel, putting items in a basket. His left knee and ankle protested walking. They were probably both sprained. Dean had been going to call Jo while Sam was out and he dallied a few extra minutes before heading back, letting them have privacy to say whatever lovey-dovey or explicit things they wanted. He opened the door and stepped inside the room.

Dean was still in the chair he’d been in when Sam had left, sitting as straight as possible so his ribs wouldn’t hurt as much. “You think dad ever did this?”

“Did what?” Sam unpacked the bag he’d carried in. A few medical supplies and snacks. “Dealt with a rib injury?” He looked at Dean, waiting for Sam to help him with the bandage, and opened a new bandage. They needed to have a checklist for the medical kit. The elastic bandage hadn’t gotten put back in the last time it had been stocked. A little guiltily, Sam realized it had been his responsibility. What had been going on that he’d missed it?

“No.” He shook his head, hand raising his phone a little. “Sat in his motel room heartsick and worried because even if he left right that second, he’d never get wherever he’d stashed us in time to comfort his sick kid.”

Easy translation there. “Jack’s sick.”

“Oh yeah. Not a little ear infection this time. He started puking in the middle of the night, then the fever and diarrhea kicked in. Jo took him to the clinic. They said he should be fine, but if the fever doesn’t go down after ‘x’ number of hours, she should take him to the E.R..”

“We’ll be leaving soon.” He went to work wrapping Dean’s ribs, taking care not to wrap too tightly. “You give Jo the heads up about your ribs?”

“And give her something else to worry about? She’s still fussing over the healed hole in my arm and add this to Jack? No.”

“She’ll find out as soon as we walk in the door.” Dean wasn’t going to be able to drive for long in comfort or even ride in comfort. In fact, doing much of anything was going to hurt for awhile, even breathing.

“As long as she’s not worrying over me too.”

He finished and sat back. “To answer the question: yes, I think dad did this a lot. If it wasn’t me sick, it was you, or both of us. Ear infections, eye infections, colds, the flu. He _did_ worry about us.” Time, and the lens of maturity, had brought a new clarity to Sam’s memories of John Winchester. “You know he had to have.”

One brow twitched upwards. “Yeah, sounds like I’m nothing like dad at all.”

He chuckled. “What was it Jo said once? That being like him wasn’t necessarily a bad thing? He did the best he could in a series of bad situations? You’re doing all you can, Dean.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Is Jo complaining?”

He shook his head. “Not once.”

“She’s not exactly silent, you know. If she felt like you weren’t pulling your weight, she’d say it loud and clear.” Getting to his feet, he began packing. “Besides, the last ear infection you stayed back. You’re there more than you think you are.”

“Am I now?”

“Sure. You were there for his birth and his first birthday. You were there the first time he clearly called Jo ‘mama’ and when he took those first steps.” Several staggering steps across the living room before Jack had fallen. “You’ve been there a lot. He’s a happy, social baby, unnaturally so. Kids who feel neglected aren’t like that. They draw in, even as young as he is.”

“Look who’s the child expert now? Which reminds me, how’s operation sperminate going?”

“Just fine.” He really didn’t want to talk about it and shut down the conversation as quickly as possible. He loaded the car, then got Dean in the passenger seat -- with much grumbling and complaining from Dean. 

Nearly five hours passed.

“What made you decide you wanted kids after all?”

Sam glanced at Dean. The question sounded casual, but Sam knew it was merely a continuation of their earlier conversation and thought on the question as he slowed down to go through a small town. “I’ve always wanted kids. On some level anyway.”

Dean snorted, then pressed a hand to his ribs and groaned. “Damn it, I can barely move or even breathe.”

“Tell Jo yet,” he asked, though knew Dean hadn’t. He was going to hold off until Jo could see the bandage for herself.

“No. Don’t change the subject. Since when do you want kids? Last year you practically spit whenever the subject came up.”

He sped up heading out of town and when he was back at highway speed said, “I really have always wanted kids.”

“Yeah right.”

“I have,” he insisted, stretching his left leg a little to ease the growing ache there. It was true. Just because he’d had the threat of passing on demon blood hadn’t meant that want had disappeared. He’d always hoped to have kids of his own some day. Until the revelation from Castiel, it had been only a dream. Now it was possibly a reality.

“Bull. You avoided Jack for weeks. Jo had to trick you to get you to hold him. Not the behavior of a man who wants kids. Spill. What changed your mind?”

He shifted a little in the seat, not wanting to delve too deeply into this topic. “I don’t know. A lot of things, I guess. I’ve watched you and Jo with Jack for a year --”

“And watched _Gwen_ with him. That was it, wasn’t it? She was what got you wanting kids. You saw her and that got the ball rolling in your melon.”

There was that, for sure. The sight of her holding Jack had seemed so right at times. “She does want kids and honestly, she doesn’t have too many more years left that she can have them.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean’s non-answer said volumes and Sam sighed in resignation. “Okay, what was the bet with Jo?”

He chuckled, groaning once more on the heels of it. “Jo bet a year and a half, I bet two before you two started in on a baby.”

“Money?”

“Jo and I deal in other kinds of currency with each other, Sam, a thing I’d think you, as a married man yourself, would understand.”

“Jo won, you know.”

“Happens on occasion. I think I can deal with the consequences.” 

Sam didn’t think about what those consequences were. He could guess by the cat-ate-the-cream look on Dean’s face. “We agreed to try for six months.”

“Bet you fifty she’s preggers by next month.”

“I’m not betting on when my wife will get pregnant.”

“Spoilsport.” He shifted in the seat. “You know, the first time you hold your baby, you’ll be in complete love with it.”

“So I’ve heard.” Dean had made just that remark the day Jack had been born.

“Yup.” He nodded. “The first couple days are a whole new world of experiences, some good, some…different. Then the sleep deprivation kicks in and you start having to deal with colic --”

“Jack never had colic.”

He raised a finger. “Don’t interrupt. He could’ve. Where was I? Oh yeah, the fun things. Putrid diapers, projectile vomit --”

“We deal with worse on the job.”

Dean chuckled, groaned, and pressed one arm to his ribs. “You just have to experience it, Sam. Trust me. Babies are a completely different experience. The first time you bathe your baby who has managed to completely cover himself with his own crap --”

“Way to sell fatherhood, Dean.”

His grin faded. “There’s nothing like it. You think he’s okay?”

Sam glanced at him. “I’m sure if Jo had to take him to the E.R. she would’ve called.” He pushed the pedal a little harder, like he knew Dean would do if he were driving.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dealing with a sick child wasn’t Jo’s idea of a good time, but it was necessary as a mom. She wondered if this was what it had been like for her mom and was glad when Sam called to say they were only an hour out. Jack was better, his fever broken only a few hours earlier. It had apparently been a forty-eight hour bug.

When they came though the door, Jo hugged Dean with her usual amount of joy at seeing him home alive. He made an odd noise and she leaned back, noting the way he was gritting his teeth. “Was that a pained gasp?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

Suspicious now, she hugged him again, focusing her attention on his midsection. This time he let out a yelp of pain and even panted for several seconds before drawing in a slow breath.

“Told you to tell her before we got back.” Sam finished bringing in their bags and dropped them on the floor.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing,” Dean insisted.

Thoughtful, Jo reached out and yanked up his shirts, revealing his ribs wrapped in an ace bandage, or two rather, since the entire area was covered. She touched a tentative hand to his stomach. “What the hell is this?” She let the shirts drop. “And don’t say nothing.”

“Cracked ribs.” Sam accepted Gwen’s greeting, the kiss he gave her making a convincing argument that they must still be newlyweds. He lifted her against him.

“Dean? What happened?”

He grasped her arms, squeezing gently. “They’re bruised, not cracked. If they were cracked, I wouldn’t be wearing the bandage.”

Gwen leaned back from Sam long enough to comment, “Not a big difference where ribs are concerned. A lot of pain either way.”

“Did you get thrown against a wall again?” She ignored Sam and Gwen’s reunion beside her. A body would think it’d been months since they’d seen each other instead of nearly a week. They were all over each other.

“More like a few gravestones.” He said it like they were nothing.

“Just a few gravestones.” Jo wet her lips and shook her head. She knew from personal experience how much getting thrown into a single gravestone hurt, let alone more than one.

Gwen whispered something in Sam’s ear, giggled, and slid from his embrace, moving quickly towards their bedroom. Sam looked at them, “Uh…we’ll be,” he gestured at the doorway, following her, “you know,” nearly tripped over the footstool, “in there awhile.” Their door slammed behind him.

“We got the job done.”

“You’re out of commission until that heals.”

“Am not.”

“Yeah? Can you drive? Get in and out of bed without screaming? Um…breathe without it hurting?”

His mouth opened and he shrugged. “Sort of?”

  
She smiled with more than a little smugness. “You’re staying here and resting. I’m going out until you’re healed.”

“How am I going to lift Jack if moving hurts?”

“Sam can help you.”

When Sam and Gwen finally emerged from their room hours later, Gwen, Sam, and Jo put together a plan for the next month.


	36. Chapter 36

Morning was pure agony.

Dean had taken to sleeping on his back since the pressure of sleeping on his side or stomach made getting out of bed in the morning nearly impossible. He woke to the sound of Jack crying, and as he began the process of psyching himself up to move, he heard Sam in with Jack.

He was good with him, talking in a soft voice, calming him down. Sam’s enthusiasm for taking care of Jack while Dean couldn’t really bend, twist, or move without pain was not unsurprising. He seemed eager to really find out how well he could do in that role of caretaker, using this like a trial run for when Gwen conceived.

Smiling a little, Dean listened several minutes. Sam was going to be a good father if that was in his cards.

He took several deep breaths in a row and pushed himself to sit up, letting out a groan of pain as he did so. The outward bruises were fading to weird shades of yellow, but inside was still a mess of hurt. He was going to be hurting for at least six weeks, according to Gwen’s almost cheerful prediction. Forcing himself up and out of bed, Dean gritted his teeth until he was mobile and heading down the hall. Staggering was a much better word to describe his mobility at present, he decided. He didn’t walk, he staggered.

“Morning.” Sam glanced his way. “Coffee’s ready.” He lifted Jack, who had started reaching for Dean upon noticing him in the doorway. “I’ll get him fed and dressed.”

“And bathed. He needs a bath this morning.”

“He gets two or three a day.”

Accurate observation. “Only when he really needs them.”

“Which is every day, several times a day.”

“Pretty much.” His son had a knack for getting absolutely filthy.

Sam stepped close enough he could half hold Jack without his son’s weight on his ribs. Jack responded with babble and a few words that made sense. His vocabulary was improving, though largely consisted of ball, mama, dada, nana, and a few other words.

Dean cupped the back of Jack’s head and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Morning, buddy. You ready for some breakfast?” He let Sam go past him and concentrated on getting himself moving.

He showered and dressed, then made his way down the stairs as Sam was taking Jack back up. It was the same sort of routine they’d established the past couple weeks. Also routine was Jack’s crying for Jo at bedtime. He’d cry ‘won mama’ until he passed out he was so tired from fussing. The first time he’d done that it had about broken Dean’s heart and he’d immediately called Jo only to learn that when he wasn’t there, Jack cried ‘won dada’.

Her absence was keenly felt and Dean found his thoughts turning towards John Winchester. The determination with which John had gone after Azazel proved in Dean’s mind just how much John had loved Mary because, no matter what Sam said, he knew he had the potential inside him to be much like their father. If Jo died, he knew he’d go off the deep end the same way John had and those around him would have a hard time keeping him focused on the family he had left instead of only on revenge. Yet he also knew that family would fight for him and were far more than what John had had. Sam -- and everyone else- was right. The circumstances would always be different. Dean would never _be_ John Winchester, only very like him in some ways.

God willing the opportunity to test that never arose.

He turned his attention to work as the day passed. Paperwork, that was. Being stuck back in Sioux Falls doing paperwork for their front business had a high suckage factor.

Dean carefully packed pillows around himself to stay sitting up straight and minimize movement and started in on the invoices Jo and Gwen had left. The two had already worked a few basic investigation jobs and Dean was surprised at the aggressive billing Gwen and Jo had insisted on. Their reasoning was that they had the skill to be competitive and had researched prices for other investigative services in the area. Not a bad income so far, though he supposed they’d have to pay taxes and all of that crap.

“Dean?”

He looked up. 

Sam came to the table and set his bag on the floor. “I’m heading out to meet Jo and Gwen. Be back in a couple days.”

“Leaving me to do all the paperwork.” Dean slid one folded paper into an envelope printed with their logo and sealed it. Sam was the one who’d gotten envelopes printed and picked up a few other office supplies, including a bookkeeping program.

He snorted. “It’s about all you can do until your ribs heal.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” While he’d gotten behind this idea because the others were enthusiastic about it and he could see the need for it, he didn’t want to be the one doing the actual paperwork. Jo or Sam were much more efficient at it than he was.

“Ellen will be here to help with Jack in about half an hour.”

“He still asleep?” He knew Jack was. He had the monitor right beside him.

“Yeah. Dead to the world.”

“What is it they’re working on that they need you there?” The only thing Jo had told him about their latest case was that it had something to do with bizarre deaths that were all caught on video and resembled Three Stooges routines.

“It’s a precaution.”

A thoroughly unconvincing claim. Dean thought Sam going to Washington probably had more to do with Gwen and their personal side project than the case. “Whatever. Get going.”

He’d finished the invoices by the time Ellen arrived, which coincided with Jack waking from his nap. Dean let her take charge and settled in for some pampering Ellen style.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was just so tired.

Gwen rolled over in bed and stretched, unable to shake the sleepiness away. She knew she needed to get up. Dean and Sam both wanted to go over the information they had on the soul stealer, a thing they did weekly now, trying to fill in the gaps in their knowledge. Yawning, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She’d started feeling under the weather a couple days earlier, a little sniffly, achy, and exhausted. It was mostly the exhaustion that had hit her hard and she hated that she’d managed to catch something. Usually she only got the occasional summer cold or allergy, but this was hitting her hard. Maybe it had been the constant traveling for six weeks that made it seem worse than usual.

Jo had cheerfully driven back, letting Gwen rest, playing whatever music she’d wanted. Gwen had zoned out until they were close to home, then gone inside, showered, put on pajamas, and collapsed into bed. She vaguely remembered Sam taking her temperature at one point and adding another blanket to her side of the bed.

The bedroom door opened, Sam peering in. “You feeling up to this?”

“Give me ten to wake up a bit.” Her voice was raspy and she cleared her throat, reaching for the water glass by the bed and taking a long drink.

“Yeah, sure. Jo’s making dip of some kind to take up.” He glanced behind him before stepping inside ad closing the door. “Cold or flu do you think?”

“Cold, I think. It doesn’t feel like flu.” Of course, it didn’t feel like a cold either, like something somewhere between the two. 

“You want a hot toddy? Dean makes one that’s really good. It’ll knock you on your ass for a few hours, let you rest.”

While it was probably a good idea, the thought of alcohol right now made her stomach feel like it was sloshing a little inside her. “No, I’m good without it.”

He stepped closer, fingers smoothing across her brow. “Still no fever. You don’t feel any warmer than usual.”

“I’ll be fine in a couple days. We ran around without coats and all that stupid crap I normally don’t do. This is my penance for stupidity.”

While she started to feel a little better, she still spent the better part of the next week sleeping far more than usual.

~~~~~~~~~~

With Dean still recovering from his rib injury, it had been Jo and Gwen going out. Sam went when Jo and Gwen needed muscle, but for the most part, it was over a month of Jo and Gwen working. Dean complained about being sidelined, but Jo could tell he was enjoying his time with their son and the couple of surveillance jobs he’d undertaken for their front business. He’d even ended up working with Jody at one point, handing over information he’d uncovered during his own investigation. 

What he wasn’t enjoying was the paperwork for that business and Jo could understand that. He’d never had to really contend with paperwork of that sort, while Jo had spent years helping Ellen place orders, fill envelopes, and make calls. She’d had an idea what was going to be required.

Jo was glad to be home though. Their lives had certainly changed from what they’d been. Gone were the days of roaming like nomads across the U.S.. Now, they went out with something of a battle plan and returned home as often as they could.

Home. When had the house gone from being just their base to being home? Jo wasn’t sure she could begin to pinpoint the exact moment.

She finished warming up the dip she’d made, grabbed a bag of tortilla chips and headed upstairs. Sam and Gwen were across the table and Jack was down for a nap, though it didn’t sound like he was actually napping, rather talking to himself. She set the bag and dish down and opened the bag. “Here.” Jo scooped up some dip with a chip and put it right at Dean’s mouth. “Try this.”

He ate it without taking his eyes off the map he was studying, his expression shifting from concentration to suspicion before he looked at her. “What the hell was that?” He pointed at the dish, then his mouth, and back at the dish.

She sat down, sliding the dish to one side so he couldn’t see that the dip was mostly green in color. “Dip.”

“What was in it?”

“Cheese.”

“And?”

“More cheese?”

Reaching around her, he dragged the dish over. “Green cheese? Did you feed me spinach just now?”

Sam snickered and scooped some dip with a chip. “I told you you’d never get a vegetable down him, Jo.”

“But it’s good stuff! The nutritional content of the spinach is completely negated by the two types of full fat cheese and the deep fried tortilla chips.” She’d thought she might be able to pass it off as being unhealthy and thus get Dean to eat it.

“It’s spinach.” Raising his cup, Dean drank some coffee, rinsing the brew about his mouth before swallowing. “It’s disgusting.”

“It won’t kill you, Dean.” She rolled her eyes and dished up some dip and chips onto a plate for herself. She could have sworn he’d eaten the TGI Fridays version of that dip at one point, but his reaction here indicated that memory was in error. Getting him to eat vegetables was turning into a challenge and she couldn’t say no one had warned her because Sam had. Repeatedly. There was a slim list of vegetables that Dean would willingly eat (mostly sandwich fixings), but Jo got tired of eating the same vegetables all the time. She was trying to vary their diet with little success in the matter of Dean’s participation. He could find a microscopic sliver of chopped green pepper in anything.

“You sure about that? I could go into shock from it and die.” A slight smile hovered at the corners of his mouth and disappeared, a sign he was teasing her.

Gwen took a few chips from the bag. She looked like she should still be in bed and kept trying to cover her yawns. “Don’t feel bad, Dean. I don’t eat spinach either. I think it’s the one vegetable I can’t stand. I’ll eat Brussels sprouts and asparagus, but not spinach.”

“But you actually eat vegetables,” Jo pointed out. “I have to puree them and slip them into spaghetti or lasagna or meatloaf or something to get him to eat them.”

Dean’s expression indicated she’d betrayed him on a deep level. “You put vegetables in that meatloaf?”

Gwen laughed. “You’ve scarred him for life now.”

“You ate it, didn’t you? And had fourths.”

He snorted. “I’m betrayed.” He tossed the map Sam’s way. “Here. Check off any more Mick sightings you’ve found.”

Sam looked down at the map, then circled five more locations. Most of the sightings were in the central region of the U.S. and west towards them. There had been a few on the west and east coast and the southern states, yet for the most part, he’d stayed in the central area, taking out chunks of the population. “Done.” He handed the map back.

Dean studied it. “What do we have? What do we know?”

“Well…. It’s got the monsters running scared, that’s for sure.” Gwen settled back into her chair with a few more chips in a bowl and opened a notebook. She was in her pajamas and had been the entire day, napping off and on. “I talked to six hunters the past couple weeks, two here, one in Germany, Australia, Greece, and China. They’re seeing the same migratory patterns everywhere. Creatures thought to have fled their native countries to here are apparently fleeing here now and returning home.”

“Less for us to worry about here,” Sam pointed out, reaching out to scoop a little dip onto a plate.

“But still worrying. When monsters flee it usually means something bigger and badder right behind them.” Dean glanced at Jo. “What’d you find out through Sophie?”

“One of the shamans she consulted recently started talking catastrophe in a global sense within one to two years, that once he gets started, he’ll eat his way through the entire world population.” She flipped a page on the notebook in front of her. Sophie was no longer fun to work with or talk to, her focus on Mick and the soul stealer only. Dean had likened it to how Sam had been only not nearly as bad. “There’s lore, but there’s not much. The Choctaw have what they call ‘Nalusa Chito’ or ‘Impa Shilup’ that could fit the profile of the soul stealer. It’s a soul eater, shadow being. He did tell Sophie that he was shadow and darkness. A lot of cultures do have a creature like it in their mythology, though unfortunately, I haven’t been able to turn up much fact.”

Add all that to what Lacey had told them and maybe Sam was right. Maybe they were making progress. The fact that other cultures had a creature like him supported Lacey’s claim that it had been all over the world.

“Other hunters don’t seem to know anything much either,” Gwen interjected, shifting position in her chair.

Dean’s phone rang. He reached for it. “Hello?…Yes, this is Agent May.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the pen and paper in front of Jo. She slid it to him. “Yeah…Mmm-hmm….Thank you….We’ll be there.” He hung up.

Sam finished with his chips and dip. “What’s up?”

“That was a cop a couple hours from here, one of the ones I gave a card to. Mick surfaced this morning, about half an hour ago. Dazed, confused, blood all over him, some still fresh. He’s in custody and we need to get there quick before the real Feds get to him.”

“You think it jumped bodies?” Gwen tucked her hair behind her ears. “Left Mick to take the fall?”

“Possible.”

“We’ll call Sophie.” She reached for the house phone.

“No.” Jo shook her head. “We need to see if it’s really Mick first.”

“I agree.” Sam got up from his chair.

“No way we should give that creature a second shot at whatever is left of her soul.” Dean stood as well. He was still moving carefully, but his ribs were better than they’d been.

Jo packed him while he checked the trunk and within fifteen minutes of the call, Dean and Sam were on the road.

~~~~~~~~~~

The person in the cell certainly looked like Mick. He was sitting on the side of the bunk when they were shown in, his head down and arms resting on his knees, hands dangling loosely. His hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over.

Dean stepped warily towards the cell, eyeing the bars and cell itself. Too bad all the bars were made of steel and not iron. If this was the creature they were after and not Mick, he planned on seeing if the iron knife in his pocket would hurt him -- provided the guard left them alone long enough. “Mick.”

He looked up, hope in his eyes that flickered and disappeared. “Agents,” he said, glance turning to the retreating officer, keeping their cover.

“You’ve given us a merry chase, let me tell you,” Dean began and when the door closed behind the officer, he stepped closer to the bars. “What happened?”

Mick sighed, slid a hand through his hair and stood, pacing the cell, steps shuffling. He looked older than his years and very tired. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much, just bits and pieces really.”

“What do you remember?”

“It’s like when a demon possesses you. Some things you see so clearly and others….” He sucked in a breath, like a dying man gasping for air. “Sophie. I remember hurting her and I….” He looked at Sam, then quickly down at the floor. “I remember Gwen. I’m sorry, Sam.”

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, but they refrained from informing him that Gwen was alive and well. Mick still seemed off, his manner not quite right and Dean supposed Mick might be in shock.

“Yeah, well.” Sam’s jaw clenched and he shrugged. “Our lives aren’t conducive to long relationships.”

Mick turned to the bed, half looking over his shoulder at them. “Can you get me out?” His expression was eager, again hopeful.

“No. Real Feds will be here probably within the hour. In fact, as wanted as you are, I’m surprised they’re not already here.” It was a truth and something that happened to hunters on occasion. There wasn’t a way to get Mick out, if this was Mick. “You’re locked down, wanted on multiple counts of murder along with a slew of other charges. No way we got pull, even fake pull, to get you released. No favors big enough. You’ll be headed to the big house to wait for trial. Once we know where you are, we might be able to set something up, but until then, no.”

He smiled, turning back to face them. It was a nasty, evil grin, like the one Gwen had told them she remembered, and made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up. “Good. I think I’ll stay here awhile, guys. Take a load off. Dine in.” He shrugged. “But don’t worry, I’ll get back to you both real soon.”

“You’re not Mick.” Sam crossed his arms. He didn’t look surprised.

“No, but I’m getting better at being him, aren’t I?” He tapped a finger to his temple. “I’ve almost got full access up here, his memories opening up like a flower to the sun. He was tough to crack. Took longer than most people. Have to admire him for that.”

The door behind them opened, spilling several people into the area, all dressed in suits like Sam and Dean. The real Feds had arrived and Dean and Sam slipped out before any could take notice of them. They spent hours sitting in the Impala watching the door, waiting to see if Mick was brought out.

“We ever find out if he’s vulnerable to iron,” Dean asked. One of the suits stepped out and lit a cigarette, smoking in quick drags and puffs.

“God knows,” Sam replied. “Most of these things are, but --”

“With our luck we can cross that off the list of possibilities. Too bad we weren’t in there a little longer alone.”

By the next morning, the soul stealer had been transported to the prison two hours away and there was nothing Dean and Sam could do to get to him. He had locked himself away with a building full of helpless people. Hardened criminals, yes, but helpless all the same against him.

~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as they’d stepped into the jail, Sam had suspected something was wrong and knew Dean had as well. While they hadn’t known Mick long, he’d felt wrong to Sam, like one note in a symphony that was a half step below or above where it should be, throwing the whole thing off.

He’d turned himself in for the sole reason of taunting them. That much was obvious from what he’d said and what happened almost immediately.

The soul stealer didn’t stay for long in the prison, merely long enough to completely eat half the population and guards and set the rest free. Sam assumed he’d taken their souls first. As for his feat of taking so many people, for a creature that had dined on an entire town, it seemed like a small thing for him.

Just what the world needed. Already evil men with their souls gone running loose in the world.

Yet over the week that followed the breakout, each one of the worst of the evil men turned themselves in, babbling about shadow men that devoured men’s souls. They’d talked about a shadowy mist that seeped through the prison bars and killed without mercy. The worst of the inmates were turned remorseful and weak by the loss of their souls and from reports, it sounded like the meekest had turned vicious.

The very same pattern they’d seen in the monster population Talk about changing the balance of the world upside down. Sam thought if Death was involved somehow, he had a good reason to be upset with the world at present. The creature had to be upsetting that balance Death liked so much.

Hands touched his shoulders, fingers kneading, and he ‘x’-ed out of the screen he had up. Gwen paused in rubbing his shoulders, the fingers of one hand caressing his cheek. “You coming in to bed anytime soon? It’s after two.”

He grasped her hand in his. “Another report came in about an hour ago. The drug lord Martinez turned himself in, pleading to be sent to another prison. He had --”

“Nothing we can do about it right now.” She loosed her hand from his, ran it through his hair. “Come on, Sam. You need rest.”

“It’s spiraling out of control, Gwen. He’s rampaging across the country and we only have two-thirds of what we need to stop him.” He’d hoped that the missing journals would help, but as they turned up and he’d looked through them, they didn’t contain anything he and Dean could use. All but one had been found and he was racking his brain trying to figure out what he’d done with that one. He had no memory of putting the books in the locations they’d finally found them, like in the freezer behind a few tv dinners and a bag of frozen peaches Jo used to make smoothies. “I have no idea what those last words mean, or if that smudge on the wood was significant. Hell, I’m not even sure if I’ve got the symbols translated right.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she assured him.

“And if we don’t? What then? He’s not stopping and he’s not _going_ to stop.”

“We’ll do what we always do, what you and _Dean_ always do. We’ll change the rules to suit ourselves and make it work somehow.”

“Maybe this time we can’t.” They may have to, though. Lacey had said the ritual had been changed each time, added too. Maybe they’d have to do that themselves, somehow eliminate whatever it was Aaron had added.

“And maybe we just haven’t seen the way to do it yet.” Reaching over, she shut down the computer. “Come to bed. Now. I won’t have you brooding on this all night. There’s nothing you can do about any of it right at this moment.”

She meant it, iron in her words. She’d drag him to bed if he didn’t get up of his own free will. Sam nodded and let her lead him into their bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks after the soul stealer decimated the prison population and broke himself and others out, Dean entered the house to find Gwen holding back laughter as she played with Jack and Jack saying a few words he hadn’t known when Dean and Sam had left that morning. Unable to get a satisfactory explanation from Gwen, he headed up the stairs and opened the bedroom door.

Jo was pacing.

That in itself wasn’t unusual. She paced when she was worried, when she was angry, and when she was bored. The unusual part was the way she was pacing. Her circles were distracted, she was muttering under her breath, and she wasn’t really paying attention to where she was going. Something had her extremely upset.

Curious.

Dean stepped into their room and closed the door behind him. “Why is our son repeating swear words over and over?”

“I may have said a few,” she admitted, chewing on a thumbnail, a thing he’d never seen Jo do ever.

What was going on? It had to be something terrible, yet if it was, surely Gwen wouldn’t be downstairs trying hard not to laugh?

“Just so you know, he’s getting quite a negative balance with the swear jar.” When that didn’t wring even a smile from her, he sighed and crossed his arms. “Okay. You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

Stopping her pacing, she thrust an envelope towards him. “This. _This_ is what’s going on.” Her cheeks were flushed a bright red and she looked semi-feverish.

Curious to know what could have Jo in such a tizzy, he took it. The envelope was neatly addressed to Joanna Harvelle Winchester. Dean opened the envelope, drew out the papers inside, and read with growing amusement he suspected she’d find irritating. It wasn’t something world ending after all.

Jo returned to pacing. “How did they find me? I’ve been as off the grid as possible, not to mention I was actually dead for awhile. How did they find me?”

Suppressing a grin at great effort, Dean cleared his throat. “Well…. Ellen did still own property there until a couple years ago. I’m sure she still has friends there --”

“You don’t understand.” She whirled to face him. “I avoided the five year, was blissfully unaware of the ten year, and then I get,” she snatched the envelope back, “this. How did they find me? I Google myself, Dean, and do regular searches to make sure I’m as unfindable as possible. How….” Her eyes widened. “It’s a trap. That’s what this is. It’s a demon trap. A plan to kill me.”

“Jo.”

“What.”

“It’s a high school reunion.”

“A reunion to hell!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

She shot him ‘the look’, that expression women used when they weren’t amused by the men in their lives, all cool stare and flick upward of one brow. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees.

He put a hand against his chest. “I’ve been to hell. High school?” He held out that hand, fingers spread, waving it. “Doesn’t compare.”

“Were you at my high school?”

“No, but --”

“Then you don’t know. Those people,” she waved a finger in the general direction of her hometown in Nebraska, “are the spawn of Lucifer. It’s the mouth of hell.”

“You’re being melodramatic now.”

“Okay, so it’s the armpit of hell, all stinky and gross. Still hell.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door. Dean stretched out an arm and opened it.

Sam was standing there, amusement dancing in his eyes. Jack was in the crook of his arm, joyfully repeating ‘crap’ over and over again and putting an extra emphasis on the ‘p’. “Why is he swearing? Gwen can’t stop laughing to tell me.”

“Jo got an inv --”

Jo pushed in front of Dean to look up at Sam. “Did you like high school, Sam?”

“Not particularly, why?”

“My high school years were a delightful blend of teasing, taunts, and fights. Those people are evil of such a heinous nature that Lucifer himself wouldn’t mess with them. Heather Holt was the worst, the ringleader, my nemesis. She and they made sure I was miserable for four years.”

Dean saw a flicker of thoughtfulness slide into Sam’s gaze and then he was nodding. “Has it been fifteen years?”

“Fourteen. The morons can’t count and they tracked me down. The hellhounds.” She waved the envelope, pacing once more. “And who has a reunion in May anyway? Reunions are like summer things. July or August. _Morons_.”

“Are you going?”

Dean thought he could answer that question easily enough from her rant.

She whirled to face Sam. “And step back into that cesspool of pain and suffering? Are you drunk?”

Jack tried to yell ‘drunk’ only it came out ‘duck’. He wiggled in Sam’s arms and went back to saying ‘crap’ and laughing.

“You could go to see which girls got fat and old and which guys have a potbelly and comb over,” Dean suggested.

“Ooh, I do sort of like that idea.” Jo bit her lower lip. “We had a lot of idiot jocks, too. Plenty of potential for potbellies when their anticipated professional jock careers didn’t materialize.”

“Crap!” Jack yelled.

“You do know he’s going to yell that at dinner with Ellen tonight, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I get the mother of the year award for teaching my kid the word crap.”

She continued to mutter the rest of the day until they were at dinner, where she found out it was Ellen who’d betrayed her location to her former classmates.

“Well of course I told them your address, Jo.” Ellen sipped at her margarita and made a noise of approval at the taste. “You missed the last reunions --”

“Mom! Why?”

“Joanna Beth, simmer down. It’s a high school reunion, not a plot to boil you in oil.”

“How do you know? It might be.”

Ellen rolled her eyes and looked at him. “She been like this all day?”

“You know it.” Dean ate a bite of his enchilada and washed it down with a swig of beer. “Keeps going on about pain and suffering and how she needs hazard pay just to think about going back there.”

“They know where I live now. I know.” Jo snapped her fingers. “I’ll call Castiel down, explain the situation, and have him wipe it from their memories.” 

She’d barely touched her quesadilla and Dean reached over, pilfering her sour cream and guacamole, then a little of the pico de gallo. Why let it go to waste? “Good luck getting him to show. He’s been out of touch for awhile. Even the traditional sort of summons didn’t get him here.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Ellen told Jo and reached over, wiping Jack’s face. Thus far, he hadn’t shared any of his new words with his grandmother. Dean figured they were on borrowed time for that by now.

“That’s what I told her.” Dean strategically placed pico de gallo on sections of his enchilada.

Jo snorted and rolled her eyes. “Stupid reunion. Stupid coordinators. Did I mention Heather Holt is still the ringleader? She’s listed as the main coordinator. My nemesis. She’s up to something, I know she is. She was always up to something.”

“I think you should go,” Dean told her, smearing the sour cream on his enchilada. Jo had been going on all day about various people whose names had been at the bottom of the letter. He’d started to hear more about her high school days than he ever had. They weren’t a thing Jo liked to talk about anymore than Sam liked to talk about his high school days.

“Traitor.” She scowled and pushed a bite of quesadilla about her plate.

He laughed. “Jo, you’ve faced demons, assorted other creatures, actual hellhounds, and death, but you’re scared of a high school reunion? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

Sitting back, she flipped her hair back off her shoulders and crossed her arms. “I’m not scared.”

“You are too.” Ellen sighed. “Geez, Jo. If you really don’t want to go, no one’s going to make you. Lord knows, we all know that none of us can make you do anything. I did give Tanya Adamson your address and you can be pissed with me all you like over it, but I still think you’ll have fun if you go. Especially if you take Dean with you. Boy can have fun anywhere.”

He saluted her with his coffee cup and a grin. “Damn straight.”

“Damn!” Jack grinned. He was gaining quite a vocabulary.

Ellen quirked a brow. “You two need to start watching your mouths. Little pitchers have big ears.”

“I know,” Jo grumbled and slid down in her chair. “He repeats everything, usually the things I don’t want him to hear.”

“Get used to it, sweetie. He’ll be doing plenty of things you don’t want him to in no time.”

“We’re already there.” Dean sprinkled a little hot sauce on his food. “Did Jo tell you he figured out how to take his own diapers off? Caught him running around his bedroom with a naked butt last week.”

“Time to train the boy,” Ellen suggested.

Dean focused all his attention on his plate while Jo ignored the suggestion and went back to complaining about the reunion. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to toilet train Jack, it was just that it was coming at a really inconvenient time. They were getting busy in both businesses right now. If they weren’t busy with their real job, they were busy on jobs for the front. Who could have guessed that Sioux Falls had needed another investigation business? Word of mouth was gaining them more legitimate business than they could handle. If this kept up, they’d have trouble focusing on their real job.

He paused a moment to reflect on the backwards sense of that thought. Most people would consider the paying job the real one, yet they considered the largely unpaid one the real job.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go,” Ellen warned, a twinkle in her eyes.

“I’ll probably regret it if I do,” Jo muttered back, then with a sigh, began to actually eat her meal.

Having never been to a high school reunion, Dean found that he, at least, was a little excited about going and getting some insight into Jo’s teenage years.


	37. Chapter 37

Before she could lose her nerve, Jo sat down to fill out the form that had been in the envelope and send it back along with the money for their dinner. They’d go down two days early so she could psyche herself up for it -- and case the location for anything out of the ordinary, though she wasn’t going to tell Dean that -- and stay two days after to recover. She’d pretend they were having a walk down memory lane while making sure all exits were still available.

_Profession._

She tapped the pen against her lips before writing, _Part owner/manager of WHC Investigations, Inc. a privately owned company offering selective services across a tri-state area._

It was mostly true. They did work a tri-state area (along with the rest of the country), though not with the shiny new official job and they did offer selective services.

_Married: Yes_

_Husband’s Name: Dean_

_Years Married._

She thought about that question. It was definitely over a year, as Jack was just past eighteen months old. Make that over two years because she’d been pregnant while married. No, make that…. After more counting backwards, tongue caught between her teeth, Jo put pen to paper again.

_Approximately 3 years_

And it didn’t feel nearly that long. It seemed like only a few months to her, which she supposed was a good thing.

_Children: Yes_

_Names._

Jo considered that question as well. Did the Impala count as a child? She and Dean both called her ‘baby’ and Dean took care of her like a child. Yes, Jo decided and made up a name.

_Paula and Jack_

_Have you traveled? Yes_

_If so, where?_

She started listing off states and finally scratched it all out a wrote, _Have visited 48 states and three countries since graduation._

Which reminded her. They needed to take a case in Hawaii so she could cross that one off her list. Of course, getting Dean there was going to be a problem what with his fear of flying and all. Maybe she and Gwen could go?

With a sniff, she returned to the paper.

_Hobbies and special interests: Dead languages, forensics, world religions, folklore, and urban legends, bartending_

As an afterthought, she added, _reading and fashion._

_Further education: On the job training in linguistics, psychology, sociological trends, proper weapons handling_

She continued to fill out the rest of the information, only half of it tongue-in-cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken Jo two days to fill out the questionnaire for her reunion and she handed it to Dean to read through before sending it. He snickered at some of Jo’s answers and pointed to one. “When did we become incorporated?”

“About a month ago. Don’t you remember signing the papers?”

“That’s what I signed?” He’d signed a lot of papers recently and hadn’t been particularly interested in what he was signing as long as he knew which name to use. After all, Sam, Jo, and Gwen were on top of the ‘real business’ stuff.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why did we do that?”

“Possible tax break?” The way she said it made him think she really didn’t know the answer.

“We pay taxes?”

“Yes. We’re a business, Dean. We pay taxes.”

“For which business?”

“The --” She closed her mouth, pursed her lips and quirked a brow. “You know which one.”

He smiled softly at her annoyed tone and glanced back down at the form. This reunion had her all riled up. Jo’s sense of humor appeared to have taken a vacation. “Do we have a secretary?”

“No. We have a system set up to screen calls. You know that.”

“Can you pretend to be my secretary?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Later.”

Grinning in anticipation of that ‘later’, he pointed at another line. “We have two kids now? When did you have Paula?”

“Oh, Paula isn’t mine. She’s yours.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“The _Impala_ , Dean. Get it? Paula? The Impala?” Now she smiled, pleased with her own cleverness.

He held up a finger, ready to argue, then decided it actually made a weird amount of sense and nodded. “Okay. Two kids then….” The rest of the questionnaire was filled out much the same way and he almost pitied her former classmates. If she’d been half the handful then as she was now, they should have some idea what was headed back at them. “You feel like going out on a job?”

“Another cheating spouse?” She sounded bored by the prospect and he didn’t blame her.

“No, a real job. Possible ghouls. Sam spotted it. He and Gwen are currently arguing over whether we’re going out or you are.”

“Grave robberies?”

“Several.”

She watched him a moment then asked, “You don’t want to go?”

“I promised Ellen I’d help her with a project.” He just wasn’t quite sure what that project was. Something for Bobby was all Ellen had said, which could mean anything.

“Sure. We’ll go. We haven’t dealt with a ghoul in months.”

And he’d successfully cheered her up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

While ghouls weren’t Jo’s favorite thing to hunt, this particular job had been a doozey. Not that she’d let Dean know that. He’d worry if she did. She let herself back into the room she and Gwen had gotten, careful not to spill the coffee she’d bought with their breakfast. Jo closed the door with her foot, expecting to hear the sound of the shower or at least some sign that Gwen was awake.

No luck. She set the coffee and food on the table, crossed her arms, and sighed. Gwen was asleep again. She’d apparently gone right back to sleep the second Jo had left. Normally, Jo wouldn’t worry about her sleeping except it was nine in the morning and Gwen was usually up with the sun or six, whichever came first. She rarely missed a run and she’d missed one every day for a week. Thinking back, Jo realized it was actually longer than that. She’d started really sleeping a lot right about the time they’d gotten back from being out for six weeks straight. Gwen hadn’t gone out for a run in a long time now, like somewhere around three weeks. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she shook her. “Gwen.”

“Mmm.” She stretched.

“Gwen.”

“What?”

“It’s after nine.”

She opened her eyes and blinked sleepily. “Yeah? Why are you waking me up? Job is done. Let me sleep. I’m tired.” Rolling onto her side, she yanked the covers high up over her face.

While it was a possibility the case had left her genuinely exhausted, Jo didn’t think so. She’d already come to another conclusion. “Why didn’t you tell me you were preggers?”

The covers lowered, Gwen’s eyes popping open. “I’m what?”

“You heard me. Preggers. Pregnant. With child.” She pressed a hand to her chest to indicate herself, “I’m your best friend. Your dear sister-in-law,” then poked Gwen in the arm with the last words, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She stared at Jo, hand moving to rub at the spot Jo had poked. “You think I’m pregnant?”

“It’s kind of obvious. You’re sleeping a lot more than usual, haven’t had the energy to go for a run….”

“I went for a run the other day.”

“And came back after ten minutes because you were too tired. You went back to bed.”

“I’m not….” She scooted up to sit, understanding dawning in her eyes in slow degrees. “I could be.” She nodded. “I might be.”

“As much as you and Sam have been pursuing that goal? Congratulations. I remember the fatigue, though mine went hand-in-hand with puking at weird hours.” She stood. “I’ll go out and buy a test.”

“I’ll wait until we get back.”

“Don’t you want to know?” She crossed her arms.

“Of course I do, but…I want Sam there.”

“You’re a braver woman than I.” Telling Dean had had her stomach all tied in knots for days. Gwen didn’t look afraid to tell Sam, though, more like afraid to find out for sure. “I thought you wanted to be.”

“I do,” she insisted. “It’s…scary, you know?”

Did she ever. “I think you’ll be fine.”

Still, she bought two tests anyway (there was a sale) and slipped them into Gwen’s bag. Why buy them at home when there was a store right across the street?

~~~~~~~~~~

Pregnant. That one word made her giddy and terrified at the same time. Giddy because it was what she and Sam had wanted and terrified because it was something completely out of her comfort zone.

Gwen opened the package, took a last glance at the directions, and did what they said.

Sam was still asleep. She’d woken early, at only four, unable to sleep with the possibility that she was pregnant swirling in her brain. She’d looked at her phone app, but couldn’t remember if she’d skipped a period or just forgotten to log it.

Gwen rubbed the fingers of one hand across her forehead. She’d been really tired lately, the cold she’d thought she’d had stretching out longer than it should have. The really tired part should have clued her in a lot sooner and now she felt a little stupid that she hadn’t realized immediately or even noticed that she’d skipped a period. She stared at the little calendar in the app, trying to figure out when she was due. November? December? Somewhere around then maybe?

The timer went off and she picked up the test. The line was a very solid pink, as in no way she could think it was negative.

Dumping it in the trash, she put a hand to her stomach, letting a tiny curl of a grin slip free.

I’m pregnant, she thought. It really happened.

Suddenly she wasn’t scared by it at all, ready to drag out the pregnancy and baby books and start planning.

Reaching out, she snagged a plastic cup, filled it with water and drank. She’d go back to bed and take that other test Jo had shoved in her bag when she woke up again. Sam didn’t have any plans to go anywhere and even if he did, he’d wake her up before he left. She’d take the test again with him there at her side.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cleaning the house wasn’t a thing Sam enjoyed, but it was necessary. They all took turns doing chores and it was Sam’s morning. He made his way around the house, emptying trash cans, wiping down sinks, and so on. Gwen had left her phone in the bathroom and he slipped it into his shirt pocket. Sam started to change the bag in the trashcan and noticed something in the bottom of it.

The box to a pregnancy test and the test with it. He drew it out. The line was solid and he looked at the package directions.

Gwen was pregnant. Had to be Gwen because Jo would’ve used the bathroom upstairs for the test.

Sam held the test in one hand and her phone in the other, opening the app she’d been using to track their progress. According to the app, she’d missed a period. According to the test, she was pregnant.

Closing the toilet lid, he sat down, the trash can he’d been changing the bag in still in the middle of the floor. His stomach lurched, heartbeat pounding hard in his chest. Why hadn’t she said anything?

He set the test back in the trash, surprised that it’d happened so fast. He’d thought they’d be trying for the full six months.

Was she wondering if he’d freak out like Dean had with Jo’s pregnancy? He wasn’t Dean though and it was time to buckle down and accept this responsibility. Gwen was pregnant with their child and he had to finish with the soul stealer as soon as possible. She was right. He had to figure something out even if it wasn’t what was supposed to work.

He quietly put her phone back on the nightstand and finished the chores he’d been working on. She was still asleep when he checked back on her, dead to the world, and Sam bent, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll get it done,” he whispered and took the box of journals upstairs to the office. Jo and Dean had taken Jack out to the park, so Sam had the area to himself. He drew out the journals he’d already looked through and his notes and began to go back through the pages, searching out anything he could use. A vague plan began to form, taking shape as he worked and just when he’d decided to try another angle and attack the reddish stain that had been on the box lid, he heard the stairs creak and Gwen’s voice behind him.

“Sam?”

He turned in the chair. “You’re awake. You slept late this morning. Been sleeping in a lot lately. Feeling okay?” It was a leading question and he hoped she’d tell him right now.

Instead, she held up a box. It was a pregnancy test, the same brand as the one that had been in the trash. Gwen licked her lips and bounced a little on her toes like she was excited about something and trying to hide it. “I think it’s time to take a test.”

He rested his arm on the back of the chair, trying hard not to break out in a goofy grin. Had she taken the other test to make sure he wouldn’t be disappointed in the results if her suspicions were wrong? She had, hadn’t she? “Then we should go take it.”

They read the directions together before she went into the bathroom, then sat on the floor just outside the bathroom to wait, not talking. They simply sat close, waiting for the timer on Sam’s phone to go off. Sam held her hand in his, enjoying this moment with her. She looked peaceful and excited at the same time, like she was honestly looking forward to being pregnant. He was glad for that, pleased that she was pleased. When the timer went off, they both stood and moved into the bathroom, looking down at the test. It read the same way the one he’d seen in the trash had: positive.

Sam was surprised to find his hands shaking this time when they hadn’t earlier. “We did it.” It was real. There was no going back now and he drew in a breath that shook as much as his hands were. “We’re…we’re pregnant.” He blew that breath out. “Wow. That was sort of quick. I thought it’d take longer.”

Smiling, Gwen pressed her hands to her stomach. “So what now? Do we tell anyone yet?”

“Dean and Jo, but…let’s wait on anyone else until after you see a doctor.”

“Doctor Ames? Jo liked her.”

“It’s up to you. It’s all about you being comfortable for the birth, Gwen. If you like Dr. Ames, then we’ll go with her. She’s familiar with Jo and Dean’s crazy schedule conflicts, so maybe she’d be best?”

“I’ll call her office.”

He sat on the couch, listening to Gwen make an appointment for the end of the week. The receptionist was familiar with Gwen because she’d gone in with Jo a few times. Sam wondered if Dr. Ames would be ready for another Winchester daddy-to-be asking weird questions. Dean had once said the doctor hadn’t blinked at some of his stranger queries.

The kitchen door opened as Gwen hung up. Jo came through into the living room, carrying Jack. “He’s okay, Dean. He’s fallen off that slide before, usually taking a couple other kids with him. He’s a menace on the playground sometimes.”

“How can you be okay with it? I think my heart stopped when he hit the ground.”

“He’s not hurt. He didn’t even cry.” Jo set Jack down and began to divest him of his jacket. He didn’t want to stand still for it and as soon as she got the coat off him, he ran to his play area in the corner, dropping to his knees to play with a large plastic car, making noises that sounded rather like the Impala when Dean started her up. Jo stood up and hooked the hood of the jacket on the top of one kitchen chair. “Hey guys. You’re awfully quiet. What’s up?”

Sam glanced at Gwen. She looked back at him, bit her lip, and shrugged. They grinned at each other and turned back to Dean and Jo.

Dean tossed his jacket at the back of the couch. Like usual, it fell to the floor. “Hmm. Goofy grins, excited twinkling eyes….” He raised his brows. “Let me guess. Got a bun cooking in the oven?”

Dean’s knowing question provoked an enthusiastic nod from Gwen and Sam nodded as well.

Jo and Dean exchanged a long, amused glance. “Congratulations.”

“You knew already,” Sam accused Jo.

She shrugged. “Of course. She figured out I was before I did. Besides, I remember the sleepy phase. She did all the driving and I spent most of the time napping. I think I was awake maybe six hours a day there for awhile.”

“You’ve been doing all the driving.”

“Yup. She’s been doing a lot of napping. I’m a trained investigator, you know.”

She and Dean both had begun using that like a catchphrase half the time. “How long have you known?”

“About a day. Figured it out yesterday.”

After awhile, Sam excused himself to the workshop out in the garage. He had plans to put into motion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen could honestly say she felt peaceful about her pregnant state. She followed the directions she had to Ronnie and Ham’s cabin and thought about the past couple days as she drove. Seeing that Sam was happy about the news had taken the tension from her shoulders. She hadn’t admitted she’d been scared he’d behave like Dean had, but that worry had been there, a tiny sliver of doubt inside her.

Dean had proposed that they use that room at the lower front of the house as a nursery rather than try to use that third bedroom upstairs and Gwen thought it made a certain amount of sense since their bedroom was downstairs. She wasn’t yet to the stage of starting to plan out a nursery or look at baby items. Her focus right now was finding out as much as she could about her pregnancy and what to expect right up to the birth. Once she was confident she had the information she needed, she’d move on to the next phase.

She turned into Ham and Ronnie’s driveway, followed it as it curved around deeper into the woods and parked in front of the cabin beside Ronnie’s car.

The front door opened, Ronnie stepping out and she realized Ronnie had been watching for her. She was greeted with an enthusiastic hug that smelled of White Diamonds on the porch and another once she was inside with her coat off.

Ronnie grasped her arms, then cupped Gwen’s face in her hands. “You’re here.” She looked ready to cry from her happiness in that.

“I made good time, I think.”

“You’re staying here for the night,” her grandmother ordered. “I won’t hear of a refusal.”

“Give the girl a minute to breathe,” Ham called out, appearing in the doorway. “Hello, Gwen. Come on in.”

“I don’t mind staying over.” She followed Ham into the living room. “Sam said I should. Have a good visit, you know?”

“Let me get you some coffee.” Ronnie headed into the kitchen. “It’s decaf, but I can make you a pot of regular if you like.”

“Decaf is fine.” Gwen curled up on the sofa with the decaffeinated coffee Ronnie handed her. She felt comfortable here with them. The cabin wasn’t hard to get to and she was glad she’d made the trip to see them. Talking on the phone and exchanging emails had been lacking the real connection of being in the same room to talk.

“What’s so urgent you needed to see us immediately?” Ham accepted the coffee Ronne held out to him and took off his reading glasses, setting them on the table beside the paper.

She ran her fingers up and down the side of the mug. “Have you been keeping track of the weird attacks on the news? The ones all over the country?”

He exchanged a weighted glance with Ronnie. “Doubt there are many career hunters who aren’t keeping up. It’s big news, something that hasn’t been seen in decades.”

“You heard about the prison break, too?”

Ronnie sat in the chair by Gwen’s end of the couch. “Why do you ask, dear?” Her tone was careful.

“What do you know about the soul stealer?”

Her grandmother went very pale in seconds. “It’s definitely him?”

“We think so. Fits with what little we know. He’s taken a contact of one of ours as his host and did a number on the man’s girlfriend.”

Ham set his coffee down, a troubled look in his eyes. “Everything we had we passed on to Aaron the last time. You haven’t found the information in his things?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s why I came here. We were hoping you still might have any original source material on him.” They’d all talked and agreed it might go better if Gwen came to see them alone. Sam was working on some project out in the workshop and Dean and Jo had a backlog of paperwork to go over and file. She thought it was more a case of them wanting to give her time alone with her remaining birth family though.

“It all went to Aaron -- unless a Campbell stole it.”

“Ham.” Gwen raised her brows. He was getting better about saying things like that, but it had been a process.

“Sorry, Gwen. Old habits. Aaron had the original text, though it was old enough it may have crumbled to dust. We tried to keep it in actual archive conditions, but we’re no museum.”

“A book?”

“Two sheets of paper, dear.” Ronnie still looked pale, as though she’d been whitewashed. “Paper with symbols and words and a small description of him and how he works, all in medieval writing.”

“Aaron wanted to take care of it and after Billy’s parents and it almost getting Billy’s girl…. I think Billy wanted Aaron on it.”

“Do you know what happened?” She took a long drink of coffee. Ronnie made some of the best coffee she’d ever had, even if it _was_ decaf.

Ham shrugged. “Aaron never discussed it with us except to assure us that it was bound again and the binding was improved.”

“Improved? Like he improved it?” Exactly what Sam and Dean had said Lacey had told them, that Aaron had improved the spell. Her father sounded like quite a guy.

“Yes. He was always reworking those spells we all use, tweaking them to add to the power, drawing from other cultures, other ways of doing things.” Now Ham grasped his coffee mug again, taking a sip before adding, “I told him to be careful with some of that magic, but he was smart and still at that age where dad is an old, unhip fogey with no imagination. In reality, at his age, I’d done my fair share of inventing.”

“What other cultures did he look at, do you know?”

“Take your pick,” Ronnie said. “He’d do things like spend six months in Louisiana studying and hunting with the locals.”

“Oh.” No help there. “It was definitely in his possession?”

“Gave it to him myself.” Ham cleared his throat. “You be careful, Gwen. He gets wind of you, he’ll hunt you down because of Aaron.”

She recalled the accident and the things Castiel had aided her in remembering. “He already tried to get me once. He was in the car with me. I didn’t know anything was wrong at first, but then I knew. He smelled like death, that sickly almost sweet smell rot has.”

“You were lucky,” Ronnie sat forward and placed a hand on Gwen’s knee. “You were very lucky.”

“I think it was more than luck.” She knew it was. There had been a reason she was alive now and she didn’t particularly care what it was. She was alive and that was what mattered. Sometimes she thought Dean and Sam worried far too much about what was going on behind the scenes of life. Perhaps being friends with an angel had done that. Gwen sipped at the coffee. “You know how it is.”

“We do.”

Their conversation strayed away from the soul stealer and after showing them recent pictures of Jack, she put her phone away and put a hand to her stomach. While she hadn’t had her appointment yet and would have to leave tomorrow morning to get back in time, she decided to tell them. “I’ve got some great news.”

“Do tell.” Ham gestured at her. “We love great news.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant?” Delight lit Ronnie’s features. “You’re sure?”

She and Sam weren’t planning on telling anyone but Dean and Jo until after she’d seen Dr. Ames, but it felt right to tell her grandparents.

“We think so. The home test confirmed it, but I’ve got an appointment with Jo’s doctor later this week.”

Ham grinned. “Ronnie, get out that bubbly grape juice you’ve got stashed in the pantry. This deserves a toast.”

They toasted her pregnancy with the grape juice and Ronnie and Ham began to reminisce about the days when Ronnie had been pregnant with Aaron.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been awhile since Sam Winchester had summoned her. Abigael arrived in the traditional angelic fashion, taking a long look around the garage workroom before flipping her wings out a fraction to alert him of her presence.

On the long table in front of him were three sizes of boxes, two of which were exact copies of the box that had had Balthazar upset. The other was different, set aside slightly, and she concluded it was the model of the one to trap the soul stealer. Of the other two, one was jewelry sized, a study in miniature, the symbols carved on it precise in their shrunken state, while the other was the size of a paperback novel.

Sam was hard at work, polishing the tiny one and when he heard her, he set the cloth down, took off his safety glasses, and turned. “Abby.”

“Sam. You called?”

“I did. Nice to see one of you still answers.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I need you to tell Castiel that I need it back.”

“It?” What did Castiel have of Sam’s and why wasn’t he answering?

“He’ll know what I mean.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” He leaned back against the table. “If he asks why, tell him Gwen is pregnant and I’m changing the rules to keep my family safe.”

She’d known of Gwen’s condition and protected her and the child already from a couple nasty incidents that could have changed the course of the timeline.

“You’re not surprised,” he observed, crossing his arms.

“Why do you need to change the rules?”

He sighed. “Because we’re not angels, Abby. We don’t have all the time in the world to deal with the soul stealer. We don’t have everything we need, can’t seem to find the last bits, and none of you will help us. Cas has been out of touch for months now, not even answering, Balthazar and Uzziel don’t show either, and you just seem to study Jack all the time. I have to do something before Gwen and the baby get hurt, before Dean, Jo, and Jack get hurt. I won’t let him take any of them. If I can’t do it the way it’s supposed to be done, then I’ll --”

“Do it the Winchester way.” She glanced at the boxes. Sam had a plan in mind and Castiel needed to be aware of it. “Okay, Sam. I’ll search him out and tell him. Is there anything else?”

“Just that.”

“Either I’ll return shortly or he’ll come down.”

Going to heaven, she headed straight for that office Castiel had claimed and kept locked. Two angels she didn’t know were guarding the door. “Is he in there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Stand aside.”

“No one goes in.”

She raised her voice. “ _Stand aside now_.”

With a glance at each other and what appeared to be a silent agreement to let Castiel deal with her, they let her pass.

Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her. The room was nearly bare now, only the desk, chair, Trickster box, stack of papers, and journal remained. Castiel was in the chair, elbow on the desk and chin in hand, the journal open in front of him. She moved to the desk, reached out, and picked it up. His gaze didn’t lift from where it had been for several long seconds, and when it did, it was so weary that he seemed broken.

Her heart constricted painfully. Had it been Death’s aim to break Castiel and do what Zachariah and other angels had failed? Or had Castiel taken on far more than he was able to handle?

Abigael turned her attention to the journal, reading what Castiel had been contemplating. She swallowed hard., lips parting as she read. “This is what they need.” The pages discussed the changes Aaron had made. Holy water and iron were components of the ritual and…. She shook her head with mild disgust. Aaron had used the sort of magic humans shouldn’t even use.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Why is it still here?”

“Timeline. Just a little while longer and I can release the information.” He sat back. “You of all angels should know how important the timeline is.”

That almost sounded like a dig at her current job. “And you of all should know there’s always wiggle room of some kind. There’s fluidity to time. It’s close enough that you can take the journal down and things should….” She stopped, remembering the Winchesters, free will, and that task Sam had asked of her. “Sam wants ‘it’ back, needs ‘it’, and says you’ll know what he means.”

Stretching out a hand, he set it on the box, one finger tracing a design. “He has a plan?”

“He does.”

His smile was a fond one. “Always ahead of the game those two. I’ll take the journal down then. Leave it where he’ll find it.”

“And the box?”

“You can take it to him, but he’ll find the journal probably later today, so stay there until he calls you to bring the box back here to me for safekeeping.”

She did as he asked, taking the box to Sam and waiting. However, her wait was cut short as a new charge was born and she had to hurry to Sweden to meet her.

~~~~~~~~~~

It barely took Abigael half an hour to retrieve the box, a thing that frankly surprised Sam. Taking it from her, he placed it behind the two smaller boxes he’d created. He’d expected she, like Castiel, would disappear.

“You saw Cas?”

“I did.”

“How is he?”

She paused, then shrugged. “Not good. He’s exhausted. His current job has him running ragged. I’m hoping when it’s done he can rest.”

“Angels don’t sleep.”

“No, but we require rest of sorts and he hasn’t gotten much.”

“What’s the job?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “How did Castiel end up on Death’s leash?”

Alarm flashed in her eyes, then was quickly covered over. Her smile was sad. “In the end, we’re all on Death’s leash.”

She definitely knew more than she was telling, but was gone before he could press her.

Sam’s attention turned to the boxes. Time for an experiment. He thought it was possible to split up the Trickster’s power between boxes from a central source. Dean would say he was crazy for poking at this, yet wasn’t that what they always did? They poked until they had what they needed and Sam had a plan that could circumvent Aaron’s changes. He hadn’t shared it with Dean or anyone yet. He had to figure out if it would work first.


	38. Chapter 38

Where to put the journal? It had to be somewhere it’d be found, yet somewhere it wouldn’t be too obvious it had been added.

Castiel roamed the house, trying to find the perfect place to put it. The office was too messy. If he put it there, it might get lost. He couldn’t return it to the box of journals because they knew it wasn’t there. It wouldn’t be believable for them to find it there.

He contemplated the dining table. More often than not, it served as a desk area as well as dining table. There were already a few papers on it. Jo had been paying bills recently. Perfect, he thought and set the journal down beneath a couple papers. Jo would go to file them and find it. She was good at filing and he anticipated perhaps a couple hours before she got to the task.

His job completed, Castiel felt the tension that had been with him long months finally leave his shoulders. He heaved a long sigh and smiled. Death couldn’t claim he hadn’t done what he’d been asked to do, for he had. He’d kept things from his friends until the balance could be restored. The journal would be found soon.

He left earth and returned to heaven.

What he didn’t see was Dean coming in with a tall stack of mail and tossing it across the table, coving the journal with a thicker layer of papers and envelopes. Nor did he see that happen three days in a row or hear Jo declare she was on filing strike and someone else would have to deal with the papers this time.

~~~~~~~~~~

With Atropos occupied, Lachesis took up some of her jobs. She checked off a few things on the list Death had given her in her sister’s place, and smiled softly. Sometimes even a Fate had a part to play in coming events.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen returned to find Sophie visiting and Ellen upset, pacing in their living room. She set her bag down. “What’s going on?”

Sophie was watching Ellen pace, her face a cool, expressionless mask, whatever she was thinking hidden. Ellen was crying, shaking her head and sniffing.

“Missing and dead hunters,” Jo supplied. “Several of them.”

“How many,” she asked. By Ellen’s reaction, she thought at least one had been one of Ellen’s friends.

Ellen cleared her throat. “Eleven hunters are gone. Good ones, too, ones who survived the apocalypse. Kit Aston, Anita Frakes, Tommy Jay are three. Bobby’s out checking on a couple we haven’t been able to reach.”

Gwen sent an alarmed glance Jo’s way. Her first thought was that it had to be the soul stealer. He’d implied to Sam and Dean that he was steadily breaching Mick’s mind and if he had access to Mick’s skills and knowledge, she thought he’d definitely start going after hunters as well as monsters.

“Who else, Ellen?” There was an urgency to Sophie’s voice. “Who else is dead?”

“Dom , Randy, Dylan, Jessup.” She shook her head. “I don’t have last names for them. Um…Mandy Amundson, Chas Graves, Victor Wesley, and Joseph Downs.”

Sophie crossed her arms. “It has to be the soul stealer. They were all contacts of Mick’s. He met Kit, Chas, and Victor through me.”

“He’s been taking out monsters, now he’s starting in on hunters.” Dean’s pronouncement was solemn. The stakes had been upped once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a surprise to find Sophie in town wanting to discuss the soul stealer. Sam had thought they’d discussed all they could over the phone. However, with Bobby checking in that the two he’d gone to find were alive and well and had confirmed it was Mick wanting to meet, they all settled down to an uneasy evening.

He declined to play cards, sitting instead with Sophie. “You can’t get it back, you know.” Sam looked at her, studied her reaction. It was calm, as he’d expected. Even a tiny bit of soul gone affected a person’s demeanor. He wondered if there’d come a point where she’d try to put on the façade of normality for other people, or if she’d decide not to bother. He’d tried to blend in somewhat, but Sophie didn’t give a damn.

A cool nod. “It’s gone, isn’t it? That piece, I mean. He digested it like we do food.”

“Yeah. Near as I can tell. Souls are his food. He’ll rough up a body, gnaw on it and such, but souls are what he needs. He takes the soul and kills the body, or if he’s feeling generous, he lets the person live. I think he does the body work to further torment his victims.”

“What happens to the souls if he’s killed? Figured that out yet?”

“We can’t kill him, Sophie. Don’t even think it. Killing him will do more damage than good.”

“Hypothetically, what would happen?”

He sighed. He had an inkling as to how her mind was working and she wasn’t thinking hypothetically right now, she was thinking her own survival. She knew what she was missing, craved it, and would do whatever she could to get it back. If she thought killing him would get that piece back, she’d do it “They cease to exist, I guess. Nothing I’ve come across says they’re freed. He _eats_ them, needs more to stay strong and full. It really is like us and food. He has to eat and when his fuel is used up, he eats again. You can’t kill him. If you do, it’ll tear up the world worse than it’s being torn up now. His existence was given a supernatural push, making him unnaturally supernatural. It messed up order and compensations were made. To kill him would keep chaos in place. He can only be imprisoned.”

“So I’m going to be broken for the rest of my life. Not whole.” Her lips twisted in a bitter grimace. While still beautiful, she’d aged about a decade in a year.

“Do you see the logic?”

After a moment, she nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s very clear. Logic dictates he’s to be imprisoned. What’s left of my emotions want to kill him and make him suffer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I know what it’s like to have a missing soul.”

“You don’t act like you’re missing anything, Sam.”

“I’m not now. My situation was different than yours, the circumstances…different. I was able to get my soul back. It wasn’t easy or pretty. You can ask Dean what I was like before, during, and after. Then talk to Gwen. Ask her how I was when we first met. It’s a dramatic difference.”

“I feel like I’m detached from myself. Even when I’m in a moment, I’m not in it, not fully there. I can feel a part of myself is gone and it hurts. It’s a physical, emotional, and spiritual pain all at once. I’m damaged.”

He nodded, understanding completely that sensation of being damaged beyond help. “You know it’s a good bet he ate Mick’s soul.”

“I know.”

“If the creature did and Mick, by some miracle, survives what that thing put his body through…. Best thing you can do to save him is put a bullet in his brain. Trust me. He’ll do more bad than good if left alive, a sociopath. I know you don’t want to see Mick turned into that.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll know what to do if the time comes.”

“You mean when, not if.”

“Yeah. If you love him, Sophie, and I know you do, you’ll end his misery.”

She drew in a sharp breath through her nose and looked away, to where Jo, Bobby, Ellen, and Dean were playing cards and Gwen was playing with Jack. “First bullet goes through his brain, the second through mine.”

“Sophie --”

“I can’t live like this much longer, Sam. It’s agony. Each day is nothing but deep pain inside me.”

Reaching out, he put a hand over hers, squeezing a little before releasing it. He wanted to tell her she was stronger than she thought and a ton of other things to convince her not to kill herself the second she’d ended Mick’s pain. Instead, he stayed silent. Now wasn’t the time to try to convince her. She was weary in every way, dying a little more inside every time new reports came in on what the soul stealer was up to.

“I’m so tired.” She licked her lips. “Just when I think I’ve tracked him and caught up, he’s gone. I keep having this feeling that one day soon, I’ll get a break, and it never comes. I’m always one step behind him.”

They sat silent then, watching the card game across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Coming home wasn’t supposed to hurt. Home was supposed to be a refuge.

He’d forgotten that hunters never had a true refuge, never had safety. It could always be compromised.

Abraham Bennett noticed something amiss the second he stepped into the cabin. It was too quiet, with none of the usual singing Nic did when she was in the homo. She was here, he knew she was. Her car was out front and her boots and parka still by the front door. He closed the door, a terrible feeling of foreboding working through him.

No. Please no. Let her have escaped whatever is here waiting.

The air was cold and smelled faintly of burned coffee.

He’d had over thirty years of waiting for that feeling of something being wrong and here it was. His life was about to change in a horrible way. He knew it without having to even see the rest of the house. 

Today was the day Abraham Bennett died.

He swallowed hard. So be it. If it was his time, then let it come.

He drew out his gun, surprised to find his hands shaking. It had been a long time since he’d been scared and he realized he was terrified to walk through his own house, afraid of what he’d find. Dread at the thought of seeing his beloved wife torn apart worked through him. The silence was as deafening as the stereo all the way up would be. Ham swept the lower level, his training kicking into place. He moved into the living room, seeing nothing out of place, then stepped into the kitchen and spied Nic on the floor.

“Nic!” Ham hurried to Veronica’s body and knelt beside her. She was obviously dead, rigor come and gone. Her eyes were open, sightless, her lips parted, a look of surprise and not terror upon her face. She was in the jeans she usually wore at home and her favorite blue sweater. When she hadn’t answered the phone this morning, he’d thought she’d just already gone out to run errands, but it was obvious that wasn’t the case. She’d been dead awhile, possibly since not long after he’d left. His vision clouded with tears as he touched her face, stroking his fingers along the curve of her jaw like he had just before he’d left. “Love you,” he whispered.

So many years, ended as abruptly as he’d always thought would happen. They’d been luckier than most married hunters though, surviving long past the age most died. They’d had many happy years together.

“It was a heart attack, in case you’re wondering,” came a pleasant baritone from behind him.

He whirled, standing though it hurt his knees and back to move that fast, and raised his gun.

The man, dark haired and tall, was at the fireplace, holding the picture of Sam and Gwen in his hands. Couldn’t be a demon. There was no sign of entry by force and they’d had plenty of symbols up to repel demons and keep them out. “Did you know she had a heart condition? I’ve been thinking it was undiagnosed since I found no medication for it.”

Age related maybe, but not genetic. Her family had no known heart trouble.

“I reached for her and _bam_ , she was gone. I didn’t even have time to take a piece of her. But you know what, Abraham? I’ve decided that’s okay. You’re the one I was after anyway. ” His smile was quick, a flash of white teeth. “Your gun is useless, by the way. All it’ll do is piss me off. I’ve been shot several times since I was released.”

“What are you?” Ham thought of all of the symbols they had up and was very afraid he knew what this man was. Gwen had been here recently to talk about him.

“The same creature that killed your granddaughter.”

He felt faint at the news. Gwen dead? No. Surely Sam would have told them.

“She didn’t plead in that car months ago, you know. I can sort of respect that. She fought me. A lot of people give up and stop fighting, giving in to the inevitable. Not her. She tried to take me with her, but I watched her die and now there’s just you. Imagine my surprise when I went to track down Aaron and found a grave instead. It’s like fate is helping me get rid of you. Him, his daughter, your wife, and now you.” He pointed a finger at Ham.

Relief swept over him. The creature didn’t know Gwen was alive or that she was pregnant. She was safe. The realization braced him for what he knew was coming. She was safe and he wasn’t going to betray that to this creature.

“It’s such a shame, isn’t it?” He held up the picture. “They were a good looking couple. Handsome together.”

“If you’re going to kill me, then do it.”

The picture was set back down on the mantel. “With your side gone completely, I can take my time with them. Stalk them a bit. Enjoy the chase before I kill the Harvelle and Campbell heirs.”

Ham disregarded the creature’s advice, emptying his clip into him, then whirling, hoping to make it to the kit they kept in the kitchen. Maybe there’d be something there that’d help. He doubted it, but Ham would rather go down fighting than stand there waiting to die.

He didn’t make it far, the creature just as fast as Ham remembered reading once. He cried out in pain as his jaw hit the edge of the kitchen counter, tasting blood and spitting teeth onto the tile floor. His left shoulder, the one that had given him trouble for twenty years now, popped out of place as the creature flipped him onto his back. Ham coughed, choking on blood and bile.

“Go to hell,” he managed to bite out. 

Gwen was alive, and while he and Nic would never meet their great-grandchildren, Ham was glad they’d gotten the chance to have a relationship, however brief, with Gwen before they’d died. She’d carry on the family line. He held on to that as intense pain washed over him. 

Mercifully, he blacked out before the soul stealer went in for the kill.

~~~~~~~~~~

After obsessively checking her phone in case she’d missed Ronnie’s call, Gwen tried their home line again. She then tried the cell numbers for both her grandparents, receiving no answer. She didn’t leave a message at any of the numbers. Never did. There was never a need, as Ronnie always called her back.

Except now.

Her stomach clenched, the idea that something was wrong rising up. She couldn’t get that idea out of her mind and got up from the couch, padding in sock feet to the stairs and up them.

Sam was busy at work, books spread out in front of him. While she watched, he ran his finger along a line, then flipped a page in the notebook he was writing in and touched his pencil to it. She could see part of a diagram on the page.

“Sam?” Gwen knocked on the banister to get his attention.

He glanced up and drew off his ear buds. “Yeah? What’s up?”

She waved her phone in the air. “I can’t get Ronnie or Ham on the phone. I’ve been calling and calling and they’re not answering. It’s not like Ronnie. She always answers within an hour and it’s been two days. I talked to her five days ago and she said Ham was going out on a pick up, but that he’d be back in two days. I gave them three in case the pick up took a little longer than they thought. I was going to tell them all about my doctor appointment, but she’s not picking up….”

He stared at her a moment. “You’re really worried.” 

“I am. I know they can take care of themselves and have for years, but….” She shrugged a shoulder and glanced away. “They’re the only grandparents I have, hunters or not.”

“You want me to drive out there and check on them?”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” He started marking his place in the books. “We have nothing right now. No new cases. We’ll go now, the two of us.” While he and Ham hadn’t gotten off to a good start, they’d reached a truce and Sam had admitted he was starting to even like him a little.

They informed Dean and Jo where they were going and why and left within the hour, Gwen still trying to get Ronnie and Ham on the phone to no success. The drive itself was uneventful, the clearing the cabin was in quiet and still when they got out of the car.

That peacefulness didn’t last long. As they approached the porch, Gwen saw that the front door was ajar. Sam moved in front of her, fingers giving it a push to open it. The smell of death reached them and Sam turned to face her, grasping her arms. “Can you take the smell?”

“Yeah, I think.” She nodded. As long as she breathed through her mouth, she thought she’d be okay.

“Okay, I’ll take the lower level slow, then the upper.” He drew out his gun. “You cover the doorway and stairs. Make sure no one sneaks up behind me.”

She waited, gun ready, hearing sounds of Sam’s passing through the rooms. At the back of the cabin, she heard the sound of him half-retching and then he was coming back to her, looking faintly green. “Sam?”

“Stay here,” he told her in a firm tone. When he returned from upstairs, he drew her outside and they both took gulps of fresh air.

“What happened?”

“They’re dead, Gwen.”

“How?”

He glanced away, reluctance to tell her all over his face, and she couldn’t help herself, opening the door and hurrying to the back of the cabin.

In the kitchen, where Ronnie had recently fixed her decaf coffee, then opened sparkling grape juice to celebrate Gwen’s pregnancy, were two bodies. Ronnie looked peaceful and very dead. Ham however….

“Oh God!” Gwen threw up in the trash can, her stomach heaving, emptying of everything she’d eaten until she tasted bile.

The body was barely identifiable as Abraham Bennett, ripped up, blood and gore everywhere. His death had not been peaceful. Gwen was willing to bet that his death had been excruciatingly painful. The scene swam in front of her as she realized he’d been gnawed on and that bit of white she saw was his ribcage.

Sam’s arms came around her, easing her back from the cabin and onto the porch. They sat on the steps, Sam holding her. Gwen began to cry. Two people she’d begun to really love and care about were gone. She cried her sorrow of that fact, clutching at Sam with fingers that felt nerveless and icy. He rocked her gently, hands stroking her hair. 

The light shifted above them, the sun moving position.

“I’ll start building a pyre,” he said, loosing her from his embrace. “We should get it done in case anyone comes looking.”

No one came looking, even after a cloud of smoke went swirling up into the air, and they set about locking down the house. Sam called and talked to Dean, then Jo, leaving Gwen to wander through the upstairs of the cabin looking for anything she thought couldn’t be left for later.

It was going to take a thorough cleaning and time for the smell of death to leave the cabin. Maybe someday they’d make sure it had the proper cleaning.

She sat on the bed in the master, wiping her tears away with her hands. She couldn’t seem to stop crying. Dead. They were dead. Eventually, her tears dried up enough that she could return to her task.

By the end of three days, the food had been taken to the local food pantry and some of the clothes to a shelter. It felt wrong to clean it out completely right now, so they were going to lock up the cabin and come back when the soul stealer matter was over. They’d do a full inventory then, though from her glance at the papers they’d found in the safe, it looked like either Ham or Ronnie had already done a thorough inventory.

Gwen lifted that heavy packet of papers that had been in the safe, and the small bag she’d packed, and stepped on the porch, and closed the door firmly behind her. She thought she understood now why there had been clothes in the Harvelle storage unit. It wasn’t to remember the tragedy of what had happened, but to remember the people themselves that had passed. She’d taken an article of clothing from each of them, a flannel shirt from Ham’s closet and a pretty lacy sweater from Ronnie’s. She’d put them in a small box and label them, then put them in that storage unit with the rest of the clothes.

Sam waited at the passenger door of Ham’s SUV. It was a good vehicle and Ham and Ronnie had owned it outright. The title was one of the papers Gwen held. She and Sam owned it now and she thought Ham would’ve been fine with that. “You ready?”

She felt numb, like there was no emotion left inside of her. “I think so.” Gwen walked down the steps. “I barely got to know them.”

“But you _did_ know them. It’s more than many of us get. You had almost a year with them.”

“It seems like a waste, you know? All of the things they still had to tell me about hunting, about family. Now I’ll never know.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Sam held her hand as he drove and when they stopped for the night, he held her as she cried once more. He was still holding her when she woke up the next morning.

~~~~~~~~~~

The soul stealer watched the woman with the child, smiling a little at how close he was to them and they didn’t realize it. The woman had even spoken to him, though there was something different about the boy. He’d stared right back at the soul stealer, not afraid in the slightest. He didn’t understand that. His stare could make the bravest child cry, but not this boy. This one had no fear. It was a curiosity, he decided, but in time, he’d drink down the boy’s soul. He’d have all of them, the boy, his parents. 

He’d set this trap carefully just to show what he could do. He’d tortured information from some of the monsters he’d found, learned what they knew of the Winchesters and their acquaintances, supplementing what he knew already from Mick. He’d waited outside the woman’s house for her to appear and when she had, with the boy nonetheless, he’d followed them to this park. 

He paid attention as she played with the boy on the playground. If he wanted, he could take the two now. But he wasn’t ready yet. He wanted them to know he could seek them out, deal with them in his own time. They needed to be fully aware that they weren’t hunting him. He was going to be hunting them.

The soul stealer chose Dean Winchester’s number, using the phone he’d stolen from one of his previous victims and had programmed in certain useful contacts both Mick and Sophie had had. He’d taken several phones and altered them for his use. He had numbers for Dean and Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, and several other hunters. He’d discounted the number for Gwen Campbell. He’d watched her die in that crash, seen her body relax in death. She was no longer a problem and with her family line gone, he had all the time in the world to deal with the bloodlines. 

Technology was fun and useful. He was enjoying learning all of the little pieces. Mick had been helpful. Unwillingly, of course. He’d tried to keep his mind locked, but little pieces were weakening steadily, information leaking out, like the information on the woman and child.

Ellen Harvelle. Wife of Bill Harvelle (deceased), mother of Jo, and grandmother of the child she was playing with in the park.

“Who is this,” Dean’s voice barked in a no-nonsense tone. “How’d you get this number?”

“Hello, Dean. It’s Mick.”

There was silence for the space of ten seconds. He could practically hear Dean’s frantic thoughts of how to act and what to say. “What do you want?”

“I want you, of course. And your family. Your brother, wife, and child. All of you.”

“You can’t have us, you piece of monster crap.”

“Oh, I think I can.” Taking a picture of the woman and child, he sent it to Dean in a text. “Check out where I am, Dean. I could have someone right now. Two someones. Maybe I will.”

He hung up, set the phone on the park bench, and strode away.

Games were fun. He wanted to play one with Dean, Sam, and Jo awhile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey there.”

Ellen looked up from undoing the strap that held Jack in the swing. A man stood there at the edge of the swing area, watching them. How had she not seen him walking up? “I help you with something?”

“Cute kid.”

“Thanks.” She lifted Jack. He wasn’t alarmed by the stranger, watching him with solemn, curious eyes.

The man watched back and just when his stare began to grow far too intense for Ellen’s liking, he stepped back, a ripple of confusion on his face.

“You want something?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want anything.” Turning, he strolled across the park and was gone.

Ellen dismissed the odd encounter and was sitting in the sandbox with Jack a short while later, getting sand in unmentionable places through her clothes, when the Impala came tearing around the corner, screeching to a halt on the loose gravel of the parking lot. A cloud of rock dust blew across the park.

Jo and Dean got out, running towards them.

“Mom!”

“Ellen, get Jack and get in the car, now!”

She didn’t hesitate, picking him up and carrying him to the Impala. She got inside, watching Dean and Jo search the area. They headed straight for the benches, Dean picking something up and swearing long and loud while Jo hugged herself and hurried back to the Impala. Dean followed her.

Jo climbed in with her and took Jack, holding him so tightly against her that he began crying. She pressed her face to his hair. Up close, Ellen could see tears wetting her face. Jo was terrified.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone,” Dean demanded, joining them in the backseat and wrapping an arm around Jo and Jack.

“It’s in the car. Didn’t want to get sand in it. Why? What’s wrong with you two?”

Dean’s hand was shaking as he held out his phone.

Ellen took it. There was a picture of her and Jack on the screen. She glanced at him in question. “Who sent this?”

“Mick. The Soul Stealer was here, Ellen. He threatened to take you and Jack.”

“Why didn’t he?” That odd encounter came back to her, and how the man had stared at Jack.

Dean was silent a minute, then pressed a kiss to Jack’s head. “He wants us to suffer, to know he can get to us, and wonder when he’s coming for us.” He put his phone away, that hand reaching out to her and grabbing her shirt, tugging her into the group hug.

She followed them home because Dean insisted, keeping a careful eye out for a tail and seeing none.

“Head straight back to Bobby’s,” Dean told her.

“Can’t do that. Got to pick up that present for Bobby you helped me with. It’s back at my house.” She held up her hands. “I’m fine, Dean. I can get in and out real quick and I’ll take all of the necessary precautions.”

“Ellen --”

“Shush. I’ll be fine.” True to her word, Ellen took as many paranoid precautions as she could on the way there : taking a circuitous route, keeping an eye on traffic, and so on. It made no difference in the end. Her house was in flames, the fire department hard at work attempting to contain the blaze. “My house.” Ellen got out of the car. “My damn house is on fire. Son of a bitch!”

Jody was by the trucks, out of uniform, relief crossing her face when she noticed Ellen. She came over, hesitating a moment before pulling Ellen into a hug. “Thank God you weren’t in there. Bobby didn’t know where you were, said you’d taken Jack for a few hours. I thought….” She released Ellen and shook her head. “I thought you were both in there and wasn’t sure how I was going to tell Dean and Jo and then Bobby.”

“I was at the park. Took Jack there to play.” She winced as the roof caved in. “It was such a nice day, I thought he’d like that.”

She nodded. “I’m sure he did.”

Ellen gestured at the house. “Damn it. Now I’ve got to get Bobby another present.”

Jody blinked. “Ellen?” She glanced at the blaze and tugged on Ellen’s arm to turn her away from it. “Your house is on fire and you’re worried about a present you got for Bobby?”

“You’d be too. That thing was expensive. Why is it men always like the fancy weapons?”

Her brows rose. “Is it anything I need to worry about exploding here?”

“Not this time.” That would’ve been her Christmas gift to him. “I moved all the explosives out months ago.”

“Good. Good. I didn’t hear that. Why don’t you head to either Dean and Jo’s or Bobby’s and I’ll keep you updated? You think you can drive?”

“I can always drive.”

She returned to Jo and Dean’s, giving Bobby a call on the way. While his words were almost insultingly not worried, his tone belied that, his relief in hearing from her clear.

“You be careful, El.”

“I’m like a cat.”

“Like I said….”

There was an unfamiliar vehicle in their driveway and she let herself into the house to find Gwen and Sam back. Sam was in the kitchen, his arm around Gwen. Gwen’s eyes were swollen and she looked like she’d been grieving hard all the way back. Ellen would give condolences later. Jo had told her what had happened. “Turn on the news.”

Dean complied.

Ellen crossed her arms. She wasn’t surprised to find her house fire on each news channel. The local news crew loved to cover fires.

“Mom?” Jo turned and looked at her. “Your house is on fire?”

“Yup. When I got there, they were starting to just try and keep it from spreading. Nothing more they could do.” She moved to the table and sat before her wobbly knees could give out on her. Glancing down, she saw that her hands were shaking and she laced her fingers together. Strange. She felt calm otherwise.

“I’m guessing you didn’t get Bobby’s present out first,” Dean asked, earning a smack on his arm from Jo. “What? It’s a valid question. That thing was expensive and a pain in the ass to get. Do you know what we had to do to smuggle it into the country?”

Jo rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen. “Good thing you were mostly moved out,” she commented, coming back out after a couple minutes and setting a cup of coffee in front of Ellen. “Here mom. Drink this.”

Ellen took a drink and grimaced. Jo had put enough sugar in it that it was like coffee with booze flavored syrup. Good for shock, but not too tasty.

Am I in shock, she asked herself, slowly realizing that she must be.

“I think all that was left might’ve been pots and pans and some out of season clothes.” Jo pulled out the chair beside Ellen and sat down. “Even the family photo albums are all out at Bobby’s or here.”

“I was gonna rent the place out, make some extra money. Damn it.”

“You still have the land,” Jo consoled.

“Fat lot of good that’ll do me. First the Roadhouse, now this place. Damn. No one is gonna want to sell to me if every place I have keeps going up in flames for one reason or another.”

“He was there.” Dean’s voice was firm. “For this to happen after he snapped a pic of her and Jack? Had to be him. It’s not coincidence. He set the fire.”

“How did he find me?”

Gwen appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. “The baby shower. Sophie was there, remember? Mick was her boyfriend. He would’ve known the address because she shared it with him.”

“Which means he really does have access to Mick’s memories now.”

Sam reached through the doorway into the kitchen. When he straightened, he was no longer holding a cup of coffee. “He knew to come to Sioux Falls. Did he know our address? Or Bobby’s?”

Jo shook her head. “I don’t think so. I never gave him either and Sophie sure as hell didn’t know where Bobby lives. Our phone numbers are listed under WHC Investigations and DJ Marlowe. No connection to the house.”

Dean went very still and quiet for long minutes. The struggle going on inside him was reflected on his face. He was thinking long and hard about the afternoon. “Jo, pack a bag for us and Jack. We’re not staying here. Sam --”

“No. Not this again. I thought we settled this. I don’t think he knew our address, Dean. He would’ve been here already if he did. If you absolutely have to leave, Gwen and I’ll stay here, keep a watch out.” He came to the table, standing at the opposite end Dean was standing.

Jo crossed her arms and sighed.

“You have to come with us.” Dean’s jaw clenched.

“We don’t.”

“You’re gonna risk your unborn child?”

Sam flinched and shook his head. He placed his hands flat on the table and leaned on them. A precariously piled stack of papers wobbled but didn’t fall over. It looked like they hadn’t been opening mail in over a week. “I don’t think we’re in danger here at the house. Not a lot of people really have our base address.”

The disagreement deteriorated into an argument over who was right. Ellen drank the coffee Jo had set before her and watched Jo and Gwen decide to just follow the men in their lives, both choosing to wait until later to speak on the matter. Dean got his way about Jo and Jack and Sam got his way about himself and Gwen. Neither was happy in it.

She left awhile later, when the alcohol was out of her system. It wasn’t until she was standing before Bobby in the kitchen that she realized how close she’d come to death again. How close she and Jack had come. Ellen stared at Bobby, trying to hold back the tears. Her chin trembled.

Bobby took a glass from the cupboard and poured in a healthy swig from the nearest whiskey bottle. “You eaten anything?”

“No.”

He added another swig, set the glass on the table, and dragged out a chair. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“Jo already gave me whiskey.”

“Drink it anyway. I’ll cook dinner. You want the usual on your pizza?”

Ellen nodded. Bobby reached for the phone and kept a comforting warm hand on her back the entire time he ordered. By the time the food actually got there, she was going to be blitzed if he kept pouring the whiskey with such a generous hand, but Ellen didn’t care. She let Bobby take care of her in his own way.


	39. Chapter 39

Dean was at the end of his rope. His family was in danger, living in motels in the area, moving to a new one every few days, a thing he knew Jo was humoring him on since Gwen and Sam had had no incidents at the house the entire time. Sam was right, but Dean couldn’t go back there yet. He had to talk to the one person he thought could tell him if there was real danger there. He banged a fist on the door.

It opened. Chuck blinked, glance going from Dean to Sam and back. “Guys. Hey.” He was as nervous as he always seemed, if not a bit more so in Dean’s opinion. “What, um, what are you doing here?”

“Tell us you’ve been having visions.” 

“Please, Chuck. Do you have anything,” Sam asked. “Anything current?”

“Oh.” He opened the door so they could come in. “I’m sorry. I’ve been vision free since you and Gwen got married, Sam.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Dean looked around the living room. It was too neat and orderly, making it despairingly obvious that Chuck hadn’t been working on anything.

Chuck shrugged. “It means I’ve had no visions. I don’t think it means anything, Dean.”

“Doesn’t no visions mean the end of the Winchester gospels? That’s what you said the books were. Does it mean we’re all gonna die?” The words, the fear, poured from his lips. “My brother, my wife…my son? Gwen? All of us? Tell me, Chuck. I have to know. I _have_ to. I need to know if we can go back to the house. ”

With a sigh, Chuck sat in a chair. “Look guys, they come in cycles sometimes. There’s nothing and then suddenly everything is there all at once. It’s how it is. I could be crippled over in a minute, a day, a month, or a year with migraines and visions. I can’t lead you to any information here.”

Dean covered his mouth with a hand that shook. He could feel himself sliding back into panic mode, feel the now familiar signs that he was going to leave here, drive back, and move them again. It’s the same process that had been happening. Every time he thought about losing them all, he packed up Jo and Jack and took them to a new motel. Sam and Gwen he couldn’t do anything about, as they refused to leave the house. If he could’ve packed them up as well, he would have. “I don’t know where else to go. We just don’t have what we need to stop this thing and it’s gotten personal, real personal. It killed Ham and Ronnie. It went after Jack and Ellen. He tapped into Mick’s mind…. What the hell do we do here?”

Sam sat on the couch. “You wrote up until right after the wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“Could we see the work from just before Mick’s disappearance?”

Dean wasn’t sure what good it’d do them. On the drive, Sam had thought there might be something in the text that Chuck had written and they’d missed. Looking at any manuscripts had been Sam’s plan all along.

Chuck hesitated. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not,” Dean demanded, heart pounding hard in his chest, feeling like it was going to explode. “You hiding something?” He swallowed hard past the lump that seemed to be growing in his throat. His shirt was beginning to feel damp against his skin.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Chuck’s shoulders rose and fell in a slow shrug. “There are other points of view now, not only yours. I’ve got Jo and Gwen. Castiel sometimes. Occasionally even Ellen and Bobby. It got big, really big, after you guys saved Jo. If it was you two, sure, but I have to think of the others. I don’t know how they’d react to their points of view being read.”

“I think they’d understand.”

“Jo maybe. I know you told her about them. Did you tell Gwen about the gospels, too? Or Ellen?”

Without another thought, Dean pulled his gun and pointed it at Chuck. “Bring out those manuscripts.” It wasn’t that he wanted to shoot Chuck. He didn’t. He just wanted to do something that would prod him into doing what Dean wanted him to do.

Chuck held up his hands, palms facing Dean. “Are you going to shoot me, Dean? Over manuscripts? Really?” His gaze was too clear, too all-seeing, and not at all what Dean was used to from Chuck. It was like when his dad used to look at him, knowing Dean wouldn’t do whatever Dean was saying he would. It was a parental look and it started to freak him out after only a few seconds.

I’m losing my grip, he thought, and aimed carefully at Chuck’s shoulder. He had to be imagining that look. “If I have to.”

“Okay, okay. I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” He gestured towards the kitchen. “First lower cabinet closest to us in the kitchen. They’re chronological from the bottom up.”

Sam brought them to the table and set them down.

Dean put away his gun and reached for the top one, only to have Chuck lay a hand on it before he could pick it up.

“Please. If you have to do this, read from the beginning. Get it in sequence.”

“We already know what happens.”

“Then why read them at all?”

It was a question neither he nor Sam answered. Sam reached for the first one passing pages to Dean and finally into a stack beside Dean as he speed read through the pages. Hours passed, Sam finishing before Dean and sitting still in his chair with a dazed expression. He knew how he felt. Either Chuck’s writing was getting better or the events were still too fresh for both of them because he’d even teared up a little at the description of Gwen’s accident and then of Sam’s agony over it. 

Dean finished the last few pages and hurled the final manuscript across the room, pages falling like large snowflakes. “Castiel! Get your feathery ass down here now!”

~~~~~~~~~

The summons was insistent and Castiel could no longer ignore Dean. Really, he didn’t have to anymore, did he? His part in Death’s timeline was over and he was back overseeing the Guardians. He was, however, surprised as to where Dean and Sam were located. They were at Chuck’s house and that was actually Chuck with them. At least, he thought it was Chuck. He could be wrong. Just because the past times he’d met with his Father He’d been Chuck didn’t mean He was currently Chuck.

“Hello,” he said, lips parting, wondering what was going to happen. Dean was angry about something and he saw that Sam didn’t seem pleased either.

Dean crossed his arms. “I can sort of understand when Death blindsided you in that meeting. He gave you no choice right then. Even I can see that. He gave you information and silenced you, made you helpless unless you wanted to die. I can get why you stayed silent then. I can understand why you didn’t come to us. I can even understand Abigael not helping when Sam called her down.” He gestured back and forth between himself and Sam. “We get it, Cas. The whole thing with Gwen? You couldn’t do anything. Neither could Abby. We understand. We can get past it because things have worked out.”

Castiel could see the lie in Dean’s eyes and the truth in Sam’s. They were both pissed with him, yet were trying to hold it back. He wondered if it might be prudent to get Gwen and bring her here to referee for him.

“As for Death? Yeah, he uses people to get things done. It’s who he is and what he does. Apparently, he uses angels too. He’ll use anything, anyone to keep his precious order.”

Castiel lifted his chin slightly, waiting for the rest.

“Here’s the part I’m scratching my head about. You went back and willingly said you’d help Death. Death. The same asshole who did all that to Gwen. You agreed to help him long-term? What the freakin’ hell were you thinking?”

His attention fell to the manuscripts on the kitchen table and the pages strewn about the room. Since it was apparent Chuck (God?) had put it all on paper, they’d read it, and it must contain something about himself, Abigael, and Death, perhaps the question was rhetorical? He answered anyway. “I had no choice. I looked at everything, as he’d suggested I do, and I saw that was the only real option available to me.”

“You could have talked to us.”

“And said what?” He shrugged. “Would you have listened if I told you what was necessary to keep the balance of the world? Would you have understood if I’d told you I was going to have to keep information from you and that you’d have to stand by and wait for the right time to act? Would you have accepted that or wanted to rush out and save the world immediately? Would you have thought about the bigger picture or just what was affecting you right then?”

“You kept information from us.”

“But I never lied about it, Dean. There was never a point I had to outright lie to you. I was tasked with aiding Death in order to keep the balance of the world intact in the end of this. Did I keep information out of your reach at times? Yes. Did I avoid you? Yes. Do you know who was cleaning up after the creature all these months so that everything would work out the way it needed to? Me. I’ve been busy with him. Look around the world, Dean. What do you see? Do you see order?”

“No.”

“Do you see anything except chaos? When balance is wrong, the world is too and the balance right now is so skewed in one direction, that he must be taken care of soon. Look around yourself. Tell me what you see. Is there order? You have your wife and son in hiding, fearing for them, for Sam and Gwen, for Ellen, Bobby, and yourself. What are you waiting for? Why are you running? Why are you afraid? Why are you here? Why aren’t you bringing him down as we speak?”

“Because we don’t have everything we need to stop him!”

He stepped close, staring into Dean’s eyes. “You do have what you need, Dean.” He knew they did, as he’d returned the journal himself. Couldn’t they see that they had everything? “Go home, then bring him down and end this.”

With a long stare at Sam, then Chuck, he left while Dean was still trying to compose a reply.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you and Bill do it, Ellen?” Dean downed the shot in front of him. The confrontation with Castiel hadn’t gone the way he’d thought it would -- except for when Cas had bugged out in a second. That was usual business. The rest, however? He’d felt betrayed by learning Castiel had been keeping things from them, yet Cas had seemed so certain they had everything they needed and that he’d been in the right in his actions. That righteous certainty reminded him of when he and Castiel had first begun to interact. Cas had shown that certainty then, too.

Maybe they did have everything and they just didn’t have it put together right?

She slid her own empty glass back and forth between her hands. “Do what?”

They were at Bobby’s kitchen table. Dean had dropped Sam off at the house and gone to see Ellen. Jo and Jack were still at the motel he’d left them at before going to see Chuck and when he’d dropped Sam off, Gwen had come out to the car. She’d told him that Jo was planning on talking to him about moving back to the house since reports had been coming in of attacks in southern Nebraska that fit the soul stealer’s pattern.

“You lived in the same location, worked in the same location for years and nothing came after you until the day Sam and I showed up.”

Ellen started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are, sweetie. That’s a naïve and somewhat arrogant thing to assume.” Reaching out, she touched his cheek for a few seconds. “Never thought I’d think of you as naïve. Do you have any idea how many times I packed Jo off for one reason or another because I saw something heading right for us? Her stint in summer camp wasn’t because I wanted her to get in touch with nature. We’d had plenty of trouble long before you boys showed up.”

“You did?”

“Sure did. You didn’t bring us anything that hadn’t already been brought one way or another.” Her smile was wry. “Not quite the scourge you thought you were, are you Dean?”

Sighing, he tapped a finger to his glass. Ellen poured another shot. “You went back home those times.”

“Sure. And so will you.”

He wished he had her certainty. “Dad, Sam, and I never did.” Their home had been destroyed.

“That was a different set of circumstances. You’ll box up this son of a bitch and be back home before you know it.”

“Maybe.” He shook his head. “We can’t go to Jo’s reunion now, though. That’ll make her happy.” While she’d filled out the forms and sent in their money, she’d continued to grumble at least once daily. It was beginning to try his nerves. Surely high school hadn’t been _that_ bad for her? She’d made it sound like there’d been daily teasing and fights, with nothing good at all.

“Why can’t you go,” Ellen asked in a reasonable tone. “You already paid. Why waste it by not going?”

Turning his head, he stared at her. She raised her brows right back at him in mute question. “The soul stealer. He’s still out there.”

“He’s out there whether you go or not. Can’t do anything about him until he surfaces again anyway and you’ve got Sophie on it.”

“You really think we should go?” It did seem sort of reckless, though how was going to her reunion any different from working cases out in public like they kept doing?

“I do.”

“That’s like saying ‘let’s split up’ in a ‘B’ horror movie. Bad idea.”

She placed a hand on his. “Dean, we’ve got this. Bobby and I’ve got all the hunters we know on alert --”

“The ones he hasn’t killed yet.”

Ellen went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “ -- and Sam will move full speed ahead on whatever he’s been putting together. Gwen’s been monitoring reports from here to Nebraska and back. Looks like he’d heading back to Colorado again. We’re doing all we can. I think you and Jo can take four days to go to her reunion. We know where to find you if we need you.”

“I just feel like there should be more we can do to find him.”

What more was there? He hadn’t told any of them about the monsters that had contacted him and Sam both, pleading for help. There was something poetic about monsters turning to hunters for help against a monster. They had nowhere else to turn, so they came to Sam and Dean Winchester. They placed their hopes on them, much like the angels once had. Dean should’ve enjoyed telling them all no, but….

Castiel was right. He knew it. When the balance was wonky, as it was right now, the world was wonky. It was a ton of wonky that needed fixing.

“You can’t. Go, have fun, get drunk, make fun of her former classmates, and get it through her thick skull that those issues she had with all of them are long gone.”

“Is that an order?”

“You’ll do whatever you want even if I tried to make it an order. It’s a strong suggestion.”

They packed for Jo’s reunion three days later. Even Dean’s paranoia had lessened on seeing evidence that the soul stealer was heading away from them.

The Impala was ready, goodbyes had been said, and they were ready to go. Dean picked a tape from the box, started the car, then popped that tape in, giving Jo a glance and flirtatious grin.

Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ began to play. She stared at the stereo a beat, started to smile, then caught herself, and looked out the window, waving at Gwen and Jack. Their son was already distracted by the toy in his hands and Dean tried not to be offended at how fast they’d been dismissed from Jack’s mind.

He’d remember them at bedtime, however. “Here we go,” he said in the sort of cheerful tone he would’ve smacked himself for using were he Jo, but Jo merely stared out the window. An hour down the road, she unbent enough to get into a discussion with him on the recent cases they’d all worked and the probability that Sam was up to something.

“The last time you two spent that much time in the garage you were making that Trickster box.” Opening her bottle of water, she took a long drink and recapped it. “What’s he doing out there?”

They’d built the soul stealer box, added most of the symbols. Sam had then started in on some project he said wasn’t important. “Not sure. He says it’s an experiment.”

“And you let him be that vague?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You’re not curious?”

“Nope.” Yup. He was insanely curious, but if Sam was making something for the baby, he didn’t want to discourage him by butting in. He’d share when he was ready to. It was killing Dean not to be nosy, too. “It’s good for him to have a hobby besides running and research.” Which reminded him…. “Gwen ever get back to running?”

Amusement crossed her face. “She and Dr. Ames are having a difference of opinion about her workouts. Doctor wants her to keep her workouts light and Gwen…. Well, you know her. Dr. Gwen is already driving the doctor nuts. Did you hear her ask me if you’d done a background check on her already? She wanted to know if Dr. Ames really has a medical degree.”

Dean smiled at that. The women he knew really all did do whatever the hell they wanted. Gwen would take whatever advice she thought was good from what Dr. Ames said and disregard the rest. 

“She’s already planning the birth, too. She had Sam write down a list of his picks for a birth mix and was busy combining their lists earlier this morning, making sure each of them would have equal play time during the birth.” Jo shook her head. “Man, at her weeks I was still trying to figure out if I was really okay with being pregnant and was scared I’d break him when he came out.”

He didn’t doubt Gwen would have her birth plan in place long before it was needed, with variations for every possible thing that could go wrong -- including premature birth or late birth. Dean kept Jo talking and when they reached the motel, she fell silent, teeth dragging along her lower lip. She both wanted to be here and didn’t at the same time. He, however, was stoked for this, determined to have a good time while they waited for the soul stealer to show himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The boxes he’d been making weren’t hidden. Sam hadn’t been keeping them from view, he simply hadn’t told Dean what he was doing and Dean hadn’t asked. If Dean had even come in the garage, he would’ve seen them and probably understood quickly what Sam was trying to do.

He finished with the smallest one and smiled at a job well done before turning to the soul stealer prison. He’d finished the symbols on it, certain now that he knew what each one was for.

His phone rang. Sophie’s number. “Hey, Sophie, what’s up?” He swiped a cloth over the box.

“I’ve got something, Sam.”

“Something.” For a second, he didn’t know what she meant, but as she went on, he did and thought the timing couldn’t be better.

“Yeah. Dean said to call when I found him. You did too. Remember? It was while Gwen was still in the hospital.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“He killed a nest of vampires, but missed one. She was new, hiding, scared anyway of her new existence. She heard him talk about how he was going to take care of two hunters this week in a public display of his power. I guess he’s a chatty one. Doesn’t mind talking to his victims as he works them over. I know where he’s going.”

He set the rag down. “Where?” The location she gave made his blood suddenly feel icy in his veins and he let loose a curse. “Damn it!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s headed right for Jo and Dean. That’s Jo’s hometown.” As far as he knew, they were the only hunters there, which meant the soul stealer knew about the reunion. How had he found out? How long had he known about it?

“What the hell are they doing there?”

“Jo’s class reunion.”

“Tell me you’re kidding. A building full of innocent people in with them? That won’t end badly.”

He tapped his fingers on the workbench, thinking. It put a crimp in his plan to move it up, but it was still doable, not to mention that he had to. Ready or not, he had to go with what he had and pray it worked. Castiel had seemed sure they had what they needed, but Sam wasn’t so certain. “Okay, Sophie, here’s what we’re going to do. Where are you right now?”

“In a little shithole motel about an hour away from you. Why?”

He explained and when he was done, she whistled. “You’ve got some big balls to try that.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope it works.”

He hung up and reached for the smallest of the Trickster boxes. The timing on this was going to be tight and Sam said a silent prayer that it all worked out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was with great misgivings that Atropos had finally accepted Balthazar’s constant offers of a drink. Lachesis approved. Not of Balthazar exactly, but of Atropos having something that might possibly be called a date. Clotho had merely shaken her head and told Atropos to get her work done first. As if she’d be negligent of her duties! Not once had she neglected her work.

Lachesis said that was the problem. She never neglected anything.

She’d gone and had a surprisingly good time -- enough of such that she’d accepted his offer of lunch later that week. They’d had two lunches, four breakfasts, and three dinners thus far and now here she was, sitting on an overstuffed couch in a mansion somewhere on earth, trying not to spill her drink and remain sitting upright while Balthazar nuzzled her neck and breathed things in her ear that made her composure begin to slip.

It was with great reluctance that she admitted to herself that she liked him.

“Do you know what I like about you,” he asked, fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, his lips touching her earlobe.

“I’m female,” she replied, very aware of his reputation.

“That goes without saying. No, what I like is that you’re a strong female, unafraid to be the full bitch her job requires.”

“That’s an interesting compliment.” She sipped her drink and set it back down.

“I don’t mind a touch of danger.”

“I’m not easy,” she warned him, refusing to relax.

“Believe me, darling, none of you are easy. You all take effort.”

“No, I meant --”

“I know what you meant and let me assure you that I will still fear you in the morning.”

She felt herself begin to lean towards him. “I could make something very bad happen to you.”

His lips made a tour up her neck to her cheek, so close to her mouth that if she turned her head, their lips would touch. “I thrive on the danger of your wrath.”

“I have to go,” she protested, reaching for her clipboard. “I have --”

He plucked it from her and looked it over. “Nothing on your schedule for several hours. No meetings, no deaths to arrange…. Darling, I’m hurt you didn’t pencil me in.”

“You disconcert me,” she blurted out.

“Ahh, but that’s a good thing.” The clipboard was tossed aside with a complete disregard for the papers on it.

“How? How is that good?”

“It is. Go with it, darling.”

She was enjoying herself, she realized. His kisses were coaxing, touches gentle, and she almost didn’t hear his question that ruined the mood.

“So, what’s going on,” he slid a hand beneath her blouse, “with Castiel and the Winchesters?”

Atropos drew back. “What?”

“You know.” He was trying for casual, only she saw the glint of calculation in his eyes.

Fooled. He’d fooled her. She’d thought he was interested in her and here he was trying to get information from her. Her cheeks flared with heat. She’d been stupid to think that maybe he liked her. “You thought you’d pump me for information.” Her shove barely moved him. She should’ve known better than to take Lachesis’s advice and try dating, especially with Balthazar. “All you really want is information. I should have known.”

“Actually, I thought I’d just pump you. Information would be a pleasant bonus.” He slid one hand along her leg.

Atropos crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You’re slime, Balthazar.”

“And you’re an uptight, vindictive, capricious bitch. It’s good we’ve no illusions of each other, don’t you think?”

“Truly despicable.”

“Stop, I’m blushing. Enough with the compliments, Atropos darling. There doesn’t need to be an exchange of information here, though I am insanely curious about Castiel’s antics these past months and what is up with his pet humans.” 

“It’s classified. Need to know only.”

“And I don’t need to know.”

“Exactly.”

“Shame.” He dropped a kiss to her shoulders. “I could be of assistance.”

“Doubtful,” she said in as scornful a tone as she could manage.

“Very well.” He seemed to dismiss the idea of her telling him anything. “Now where were we….”

She blinked and looked around. “You’re not going to keep pushing for information?”

“Should I? You’ve been clear that you won’t share. I can accept that.”

“No. You don’t accept things like that. I know you. You push and dig and --”

“I’ve spent more time on you than anyone, Atropos. You said no, so I’ll accept it to continue to spend time with you.”

She weakened and let herself believe it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was on to Jo the second she suggested they get out and walk around the reunion location grounds. He’d humored her with a drive by, but wasn’t about to fuel her paranoia any further.

It was an old grade school for crying out loud! She’d told him how the district, hurting for money, had sold the building to Heather Holt’s dad when Jo was in junior high. Dean found that unusual. Jo had shrugged and said that the Holt family always did things like that. Artie Holt had taken the building as an office building and she’d suffered through countless field trip tours for various classes the rest of her school years.

The reunion was in the gym section. There’d be at least two outside entrances plus the inner doors. She had no reason to worry about exits.

“You want to visit your dad’s grave? Take some flowers?”

“No,” her tone took on an annoyed cast, “I want to get out and walk around the old grade school.”

“How about we swing by the old Roadhouse property, see what the new owners are up to?” New wasn’t exactly the word for them since they’d bought the property years ago now.

“No.”

“Drive by your old house?”

“No.”

“Show me the town, Jo,” he coaxed.

“You’ve seen the town. It’s small, it’s hick, and it’s the mouth of hell.” Shifting in the seat, she corrected herself before he could comment. “I mean the armpit of hell.”

He sighed and, at the next stop sign, he made an exaggerated sniff out the open window. “I don’t smell any sulfur. If it’s anything to do with hell, there’d be sulfur.”

“Just wait,” was her gloomy reply.

Dean wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Was she actually serious about the sulfur? He drove on into a town he knew somewhat from when he and Sam had frequented the Roadhouse. They’d always meant to do more than drive through and never had. Stopping at the Roadhouse had been their priority since it had been such a new thing for them to realize there was a network of hunters out there and places they congregated. Ellen had put them up with beds out back and a hot meal if they’d asked nicely. He’d gotten the feeling that the meal was more because they were John’s boys than anything else, especially at first. Then later, they’d somehow become family to her. She’d welcomed them and he was glad she had.

Jo gestured at the park on the right. “I kicked Tommy Hinshaw in the balls by that gazebo on a field trip once. He was out of school for a few days and when he came back, he had a different class schedule than mine.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“I took care of it.”

Which didn’t answer the question and was a typical Jo answer. “Uh-huh. Days. Must’ve been some kick.”

“He totally deserved it. I even told my mother about it, okay?”

“Damage control?”

She shot him a dirty look, then relented, features relaxing in amusement. “Maybe a little. I _had_ had detention once that quarter already.”

“You wild thing you.”

“I hated that school, Dean. Hated the kids. Couldn’t wait to graduate and be done with them, then went off to college and…still didn’t fit in.” She frowned. “The odd girl out.”

“You know, if you really want to turn around and go back we can. Screw the money.”

“We’re here now. Be a waste of a tank of gas if we go.”

Nicely practical. He heard the hesitation in her words. She was considering his offer and he was finding it hard to reconcile this hesitant Jo before him with his fearless wife. “Let’s get some food, have a quiet meal.” Stretching his arm out, he slid his fingers along her thigh in a slow caress. “Go back to the motel….” When she looked at him, he waggled his brows at her.

A smile blossomed slowly on her lips, fading only when they passed a huge monstrosity of a house set back from the road a bit further than the rest. “That was Heather Holt’s house.”

“Vulgar display of wealth.”

“Yeah, well…. Her daddy owned about half the town at one point. Artie Holt went round and round with mom for years on various business owner regulations. She usually won, though. I always wondered what she had on him. Mom was like the only one who ever beat Artie in an argument.”

“Maybe he had a thing for her.”

Her lip curled. “Eww.”

Dean chuckled.

They had a quiet meal in a restaurant on the edge of town that hadn’t been there when Jo had lived there. She didn’t recognize anyone and when they got back to the motel, he watched her begin to lay things out for the reunion. She was obsessing over the details, muttering under her breath.

He laid his head back against the pillows he had piled against the headboard, recalling the day he’d met her and Ellen. Jo had been feisty and fierce, a beautiful petite package. His attention turned back to where she stood at the table, gaze drifting down her and back up. Dean got up and went to her. “You’re not the only one having a walk down memory lane, Jo.” He stepped close behind her, grasping her hips in his hands, waiting for the moment she’d relax the barest fraction back against him.

“Oh?”

“You know,” he began, one hand leaving her hip long enough to brush her hair from her neck so he could press his lips there, “Sam and I stayed here once.”

“It’s the only motel in town. Of course you stayed here.” That moment of relaxation occurred.

“Mmm-hmm.” He grazed her earlobe with his teeth and slid a hand around to her belly, pressing her back against him and feeling her push back against him in return. “Do you have any idea the sort of naughty dreams I had about you? The things I’d dreamed of doing with you right here in one of these beds…or in that camper Ellen kept out back behind the bar.” He remembered one dream that had left him aching upon waking. If he hadn’t had that fear of Ellen back then, he might’ve actually gone looking for Jo after that dream.

She turned her head for a kiss, but he avoided her mouth, teasing with almost-kisses. Jo opened her eyes. There was a vulnerability to her gaze that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. It made her seem younger. “I think I can guess.”

“Can you?”

She turned to face him and slid her hands up his arms, placing them on his shoulders. “Let’s make those dreams come true.”

Dean set about giving her one good memory of her home town.


	40. Chapter 40

The task Sam had sent Sophie on was not a thing she’d expected. His plan was risky, ballsy, and had the terrific potential of failure. There was a logic to it, however, that made her think they had something of a chance. He’d thought about each step.

She looked at the slip of paper Sam had given her, checked to make sure she had the tiny box in her bag, and headed into the hotel, walking straight up to the desk and addressing the clerk standing there.

“Hello. I’m looking for…” Sophie glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand. “…Mr. Rickster. T. Rickster.”

“You mean Teddy? He’s out at the pool.”

“Thank you.” Sophie stepped outside, picking her way across the concrete patio to the blonde man lounging on one chair. He matched the description Sam had given her. Blonde hair and beard, piercing eyes, arrogant demeanor. There was a slight air of depression and defeat to the way he was lying on the chair. He was slumped, legs spread and hands around the biggest cocktail with the longest straw she’d ever seen. “Are you Mr. Rickster?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” He lowered his sunglasses a fraction, lips pursing as he studied her. “Mmm. Hot blonde babe.” One fingered wiggled, indicating her outfit of jeans, blouse, and jacket. “You’re overdressed, honey. I see you in more of a string and tiny triangles of fabric ensemble.”

“Are you him then?”

He removed the sunglasses. “In the flesh. You got a name?” 

“Sophie.”

“What can Teddy do for you, Sophie?”

Sophie removed the tiny box Sam had given her from her bag and sat on the chaise lounge next to Teddy’s. She held it out. “Here.”

The powerless Trickster calling himself Teddy glanced down at it and back up. “I’m flattered, but I’m not the marrying type. I’d love you and leave you. It’d be --”

“Open it.” She held it closer.

He stared at her, then put his drink down, sat and turned. His legs brushed hers, face moving close to hers, so close that someone watching might think he was going to kiss her. “Why?” 

She smelled the liquor on his breath, felt the heat of his body. “I believe you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the contents.” The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she stared right back at him. He had a presence, power or no, and for the first time in long months…Sophie felt something inside of her stir. Fascination perhaps? Her heart began to beat a bit faster and she didn’t feel as detached as she had. Right now, for whatever reason, she was in the moment and it felt good.

One brow twitched upwards and he took the box, really looking at it. Surprise flitted across his features and he flipped it open. A sliver of mist slipped from the box and into him. His eyes closed and his body jerked with what looked like a spasm of pain.

Sophie pressed her lips close to his ear. “Consider it an olive branch from a mutual acquaintance.” He smelled like spices and musk, an appealing scent. She sat back.

Teddy laughed and looked down at one hand, spreading his fingers. “What does Sam want from me?”

“Your assistance.”

That hand curled into a fist. “No.”

“In exchange, you’ll receive a much bigger gift than the little one I brought. He’s willing to be generous.”

“Give me one good reason why I should help that hunter dick. He emasculated me just because I had a thing for his girlfriend.”

“Wife.”

“She wasn’t then,” he drawled. “He didn’t even do the merciful thing and kill me. He and his brother left me helpless. _Dicks_.”

Sam had filled her in on what the Trickster had been planning. “You intended to kidnap her, make her believe you were Sam, get her pregnant, and steal the child.”

“Some guys are so jealous….” Reaching for his drink, he sucked in a mouthful and swallowed it.

Sophie placed a hand on his knee. “He’s offering you some life back.” That knee felt human beneath her hand.

He tilted his head a fraction to the left. “Why?”

“Because he’s going to capture the soul stealer. Put him back in his prison.”

He went very still. “It takes more than one hunter.”

“Yes. He wants you there.”

“If he wants me there…. Where will his brother be while he’s capturing it?”

“If the plan works, Dean will be evacuating civilians and getting Jo out of there.” Sam had made it clear that Dean most likely wouldn’t follow the plan. Neither would Jo. They’d want to help and be right in the thick of things.

“And Gwen? Where will she be?”

He still had a thing for Gwen she saw. “Not there.” Sam had been adamant that Gwen remain behind. He didn’t want her anywhere near the place when the showdown occurred.

“Uh-huh. What’s my role in this little plan of Sammy’s?”

“You’re one of the hunters needed.”

He stared at her, his little grin condescending. “I’m not a hunter, sweetheart. I’m one of the things hunters hunt. Was anyway, before Sam did his thing and made me helpless. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to hide when something big and bad I’d pissed off sometime or other came through here looking for me?”

“Why hide? Why not deal with them?”

“Because I’m as good as human like this! Helpless!”

“I think, with your knowledge, you’re actually far from helpless, Teddy. You were just scared. Now you know how humans feel facing things like you, don’t you?” Sophie lifted her hand from his knee as he glanced away. “You _are_ a hunter you know. Every tourist you’ve ever taken to task has been your prey. You’re as much a hunter as we are and if this creature remains uncontained, you’ll be just as hunted. I’d say you have a stake in this endeavor. If not for yourself, then your children. You do care for your children, yes?”

“Of course I do. I love them every bit as much as human parents love their children.”

“You do want revenge for what he did to two of them? I’ve heard he was brutal. Savage.”

Cold rage began to swim in his eyes. “Yes,” he bit out.

“Then help us. Get your revenge on him and get some of your life back in the process. We’ll scratch each other’s backs and call it even when it’s over.”

He thought a long moment, then snapped his fingers. A small drink appeared and he handed it to her. “Okay, Sophie. Tell your boss we have a deal.”

She called Sam a few minutes later, arranging to meet him in Nebraska, Trickster Teddy in tow.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean kept Jo occupied in the room most of the day before the reunion, keeping her from whatever obsessive plans she’d made. She wasn’t happy about it, but the ways he’d kept her occupied had kept her somewhat happy.

The morning of the reunion dawned sunny and clear, to which Jo responded with a muttered declaration that it should be dark and storming.

“You’re being dramatic,” Dean told her and reached for his jacket, abandoning all attempts to get to the voicemail Sam had left. All he got was a weird hiss when he played it, like there’d been interference on whatever line he’d used. He wasn’t concerned. If there’d been trouble, Sam would’ve called more than once and he would’ve tried Jo’s phone when he couldn’t reach Dean. Could’ve even been an accidental dial. 

She hugged herself, hands rubbing her arms as though she was cold. “Seriously, Dean. You can’t feel it? It’s like an electrical charge in the air.”

“It’s your imagination. You’ve built this up as something horrible. Of _course_ you’re going to think you feel something.”

She didn’t comment, putting on her own jacket so they could get breakfast.

All day she was jittery, like she’d drunk too many cups of coffee, and as time to get ready to go rolled around, Jo’s paranoia began to rub off on him. While she was in the bathroom putting on her makeup, he tucked a knife in his boot and a gun under his button down shirt. It never hurt to be prepared for anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen held Jack in her arms and leaned against the doorway. “Sam?”

She’d been watching him get ready to leave and was staring at him like he was crazy.

He finished adding various daggers, knives, and other instruments to a cloth roll. “Yes?”

“What’s that doing out?” She jerked her chin towards the Trickster box.

He turned his head, staring at it. His plan was risky, he knew. Monsters couldn’t be trusted, especially the Trickster, but in order to get the upper hand with the soul stealer, he needed one hell of an arrogant monster. The Trickster fit the bill. He’d open the middle sized box before they went to fight the soul stealer. The big one here on the table was in case things went south. It was Sam’s insurance that he could turn the tide in some way and maybe one of them would survive if things got bad. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

“Trust me.” He added the vials of herbs and oils they’d need to a specially made case, then snapped it shut.

“I’m going with you,” she announced.

“Hell you are.” Sam realized vaguely that he sounded like Dean as he spoke. “For one thing, if none of us come back, you’ll need to raise Jack.” He turned, hands resting on his hips, slanting a pointed stare at her stomach. “You’ll need to raise our baby.” She had the tiniest of bumps beginning, visible when she was naked but not when clothed. Her clothes hid it so far.

She looked away. “I can help.”

“I’ve got it covered. Dean and Jo will evacuate civilians and Sophie will assist me. I already called Dean.” The call had gone to voicemail, but he’d left a detailed message and would try again later to make sure Dean had gotten it. He’d keep trying.

“And the Trickster?” She raised her brows, waiting for an answer he wasn’t going to give her. “Come on, Sam. What do you need him for? I heard you tell Sophie how to find him. I thought we were done with him.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he repeated.

“You damn well better.”

“I do.”

“Don’t get cocky. You have your notes?”

He patted his shirt pocket. “Photocopy for me here, and ones for Sophie, Dean, and Jo in that case.” He pointed to the case with the oils and herbs.

Stepping to him, she tugged the sheets from his pocket and laid them on the table, opening them. Jack yawned and tangled a hand in her hair. She glanced through them and back up at him. “You’re nuts.”

“That’s a nice thing to say about the father of your baby.”

“Unless it’s true. Then it’s just a fact.”

He took the papers back, folding them and returning them to his pocket. “It’ll work. I’m sure of it. I checked and double checked everything. The changes should go around whatever it was Aaron added. I wouldn’t try this if I wasn’t sure.”

She sighed and set Jack down on the couch. He curled over onto his side and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

“Gwen, we have to do something. He’s heading for Dean and Jo. What other option is there?”

Crossing her arms, she shook her head. “I said ‘fine’. Go. Take care of him. Leave me here _babysitting_.”

Blinking, he went to her, hands grasping her arms. “Don’t do that. You know I like having you at my back. The four of us…we’re a good team, but it’s not necessary that you be there. It’s best if you keep Jack and our baby safe. Gwen, _honey_ ,” he used the endearment in an attempt to make her see the sense in this, “it’d kill me if he got you and our baby. I couldn’t….” He licked his lips. “Stay here. Please.”

Her hands pressed against his chest, fingers curling in his shirt. “Be careful.”

“Hey…it’s me you’re talking to.”

“Exactly.” She patted his chest. “You and Dean? Not always cautious.” Gwen raised a hand and brushed his hair from his forehead. “Be careful.”

Sam left a few minutes later.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Atropos surrendered to his pursuit of her, Balthazar realized that he truly did enjoy being around her. She was all the things he’d called her and more. He was playing with fire and didn’t really care because that fire was spectacularly bright and dangerous. She was thrilling and he reveled in being the one to entice her to relax.

“Tell me something no one knows.” Balthazar walked the fingers of one hand across her hip, expecting something light, along the lines of ‘I like cats and foggy mornings’. What she said was like a ton of bricks dropping on his head.

“Aaron Bennett’s death was a special order, an adjustment to correct events.”

He forgot to breath for a moment. “Aaron Bennett.”

“Gwen Winchester’s father?”

“You mean…. He was assassinated?” Balthazar sat up. His thoughts began to go in several different directions, trying to make sense of this new information in light of what he already knew.

“You could put it that way. I received a message to intervene in an altercation, to let it go one way.”

“Were you told the exact reason?”

She drew the covers against her and sat up, reaching for her glasses and slipping them on. “Knowledge. He’d figured out something he wasn’t supposed to.”

“Let me get this straight, Atropos. Heaven had a hit out on Aaron Bennett because he’d learned things he wasn’t supposed to know? Symbols maybe?”

“I suppose. I was told he was dangerous and for order and balance I needed to see to him.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been told to ‘see to’ Sam Winchester?”

She glanced towards their empty drink glasses. “I can’t answer that, Balthazar. You know that.”

“Sam understands. Is he to be terminated as well?”

“You’re not part of the loop. I can’t tell you.”

Getting up, he reached for his clothes. “I have to go.”

“Castiel knows, you know.” She watched him with wide eyes. “He’s in the loop. He knows.”

He paused in buttoning his shirt, a thought occurring to him. “Is that the reason behind his erratic behavior of late?”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. The answer was all over her face.

He swore. “You and your sisters and boss have had Castiel over a barrel doing your dirty work.” So much made sense now. “For months.” No wonder Castiel had been in such a state.

“It’s not like that,” she protested and he saw that she really believed it.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. It’s exactly like that and Cas has had to stand by….” Balthazar shook his head. “He’s so attached to that family. What has your boss been up to? What’s Death’s plan this time?”

“He’s not my boss. We’re departments collabo--”

“He’s your boss. Now tell me…Fate. Is Sam Winchester going to die for his knowledge just like Aaron Bennett died?”

Atropos swallowed hard, glanced about the large bedroom, and began to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo dressed carefully, putting on her black dress and heels, curling her hair, and putting on a touch of makeup. The invitation had said ‘casual’, but knowing Heather Holt, that was code for ‘dressy’. It was just like her and her friends to show up in evening gowns when everyone else was in jeans. Jo would just anticipate that and dress accordingly. If she was wrong, who cared? She had a killer little black dress that made Dean drool every time she put it on, not to mention she felt fabulous wearing it.

Dean looked down at his jeans, clean t-shirt and button down. “I thought you said I was fine in jeans.”

“You are. All the guys will be in jeans and either a t-shirt or their blue dress shirt, the one reserved for weddings, graduations, and funerals.” It was the male dress code in this part of Nebraska and in many parts of many states. Working men had their special shirt and suit and then all their other clothes, mostly casual. Similar for women, though there were still tricky areas to maneuver.

“Why are you wearing your fancy dress? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, just curious why you’re gussying up.” He was confused, frowning.

Should she bother explaining about ‘Heather code’? “Because they won’t be expecting it.”

“They?”

She’d barely had time to check out the exits since Dean had refused to let her get out of the car. He’d overruled her on that, but she still had a few other tricks and this was one. She’d keep the group off guard. “They. Heather’s group.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Jo, I doubt they’re out to get you.”

“Do you know for sure?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll do this my way.”

He at least turned half away before rolling his eyes. “Fine. You ready?”

“Go start the car. I’ll be out in a minute. I have to get my bag ready.” She indicated the tiny clutch purse she’d brought and had no intention of using. When he’d gone, she checked her real bag, then followed Dean out. He gave the bag a glance.

“Decided to take a change of clothes?”

She merely smiled, letting him think that and setting it at her feet.

The drive was around five minutes. The parking lot was half full already and, as they got out of the Impala, Jo smelled the very distinct scent of someone smoking pot.

Dean sniffed. “Is that --”

“Oh yeah. It’s probably Andy Archer around the corner, working up the nerve to go in. He spent our entire senior year stoned. He was the most interesting part of chemistry. Did I tell you the cops raided our junior-senior prom looking for drugs?”

“Yeah? You disguise your voice when you called that tip in?”

“I know not what you refer to,” she replied in a prim tone, while pleased he knew her well enough to read between the words. She’d made sure to leave before calling that tip in and had watched from the park across the street. It had been entertaining to watch Heather Holt scream that her daddy ‘would hear about this’. Ellen had heard it on the scanner and accused Jo, rightly, of being the one to make the call that had ended Heather, Heather, Jenny, and Tanya’s planning in everyone there being searched.

“Uh-huh.” Coming around the car, he held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”

“Hold on.” Jo shouldered her bag. It was heavier than she’d anticipated. Maybe she should’ve done a trial run.

“Why don’t you leave that here? We’ll come get it if you need to change.”

“I’d rather keep it with us.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Jo.”

“Let’s go in,” she replied with a smile.

At the door, she took a deep breath to steady herself, then opened the door and walked inside.

~~~~~~~~~

Jo was up to something, only Dean couldn’t quite figure out what. He almost didn’t want to know what she had in that bag. She was looking too pleased with herself, which didn’t bode well. When she had that look, trouble was soon to follow.

Dean shook his head. He opened the door and followed her to a table in the hallway where a blond woman with a short, spiky haircut was sitting. She was pregnant, bigger than Jo had been in her last trimester. He tried not to stare. 

“Jo Harvelle.” Jo gave her name and glanced around the hall in the way she did when assessing a location for threats.

The woman grinned. “Jo! Hi, it’s Tanya!” She pointed at her nearly illegible nametag. “Tanya Adamson! Well,” she rolled her eyes, “Tanya Adamson-Schmidt now.”

Jo frowned. “Tanya.” She said it like she didn’t remember her, yet Dean had heard an earful about two-faced Tanya not four hours earlier.

“You remember. We were in the same class from first on up?” She crossed Jo’s name off and held out two blank nametags. “Here. Fill these out. One for you, one for your husband.”

“I’m Dean,” he told her, writing his name with quick strokes while Jo took hers across the hall to the wall.

“Hi, Dean.”

Coming back to the table, Jo shoved the nametag at Dean. “I ran outta room. I need another.”

Tanya handed her a fresh one and Dean glanced down at the one she’d handed him. It read ‘kiss my ass, u sorry’ on it. She’d definitely run out of room. He could imagine how she’d intended on finishing it. He slipped it into the trash as Jo came back.

“I messed up. I need another.”

Staring up at her, Tanya frowned. “Jo, I only have one package of nametags here. What on earth are you messing up? It’s your name, for crying out loud, not trigonometry.”

At the glimpse of the ‘f you’ nametag, Dean decided it’d be far easier to make it for her. She was fully capable of going through that entire package Tanya had if he didn’t stop her. He took the third tag, filled it out, and pressed it to Jo’s dress, right above her left breast. “Thanks, Tanya. She’s a little nervous.”

That comment garnered him a murderous glare from his lovely bride.

“Oh, you shouldn’t be, Jo! I’m so glad you came! And you’re still so thin after two kids, too. Amazing!”

Rather implying that Tanya had thought Jo had gotten plump and broad through the beam after kids. If anything, Dean thought she was in better shape after having had Jack.

“I have a killer exercise routine. I’ll share it with you later.”

“That’d be great.” Tanya handed her a booklet that Jo shoved in her bag.

Both women smiled the most insincere smiles Dean had ever seen and he drew Jo away before she could make some further comment about beached whales or something. “Be nice,” he told her, giving her rear a pat.

“Make me,” she shot back.

“Relax.”

“No.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

“You enjoy yourself.”

“Okay, I will.”

They stopped just inside the gym doors, beside a man of average height and dark hair. He was holding a booklet like the one Jo had thrown in her bag and looking at the silver disco ball hanging from the ceiling.

Disco ball? Dean smirked. That was tasteful.

Jo peered at his nametag. “Tommy Hinshaw?”

Turning his head, he glanced at her nametag, eyes widening and hands moving to cover his crotch. “Jo. What, uh, what’re _you_ doing here?”

She stared at him like he was a moron. “It’s a reunion,” she said slowly, the way she sometimes did with Jack.

“But what’re you doing here? We all voted you least likely to attend.”

“Why is that,” Dean asked, then held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Dean. Jo’s husband.”

Tommy shook his hand with a heartfelt and consoling, “Man, I’m so sorry.” He went back to covering his crotch with both hands. “It’s just, it was obvious Jo didn’t like it here. No school spirit, you know?”

“No school spirit? I had plenty of school spirit,” Jo scoffed.

Tommy shied back a few steps. “TPing the principal’s house doesn’t count.”

“Says who and it wasn’t tp. It was streamers in the school colors.”

Dean stifled a laugh. When enough were used, those streamers were just as bad as toilet paper.

“No school spirit. Hah!” She snorted and moved past Tommy further into the room.

“How’d you meet Jo,” Tommy asked, relaxing now that Jo was several feet away. His hands moved away from his groin.

“Met at the Roadhouse.”

“So you’ve known her awhile.”

“Long time now.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jo came back. It was mildly entertaining to watch Tommy cover his crotch again in a reflexive movement. “Dean, come on. I want you to meet….someone. Yeah. We have to go to that side of the room.”

She didn’t have anyone she wanted him to meet, she just wanted to assess the room for exits and threats. He knew that, could see it in her eyes, and let her think he thought she really had someone she wanted him to meet. He held out his hand to Tommy again. “Nice meeting you, man. Later.”

Dean let Jo lead him across the room.


	41. Chapter 41

Timing was everything now. Lachesis checked her watch, then her orders, and got to work. Thus far, everything was rolling around right on schedule, but she knew just how fast that could fly apart once the Winchesters were actively involved.

~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after Sam left, Gwen turned her attention to the mess that was currently their dining table. It had been a standoff: her and Jo against Sam and Dean for going through the mail and filing anything that needed filing.

She sighed. I should’ve known it’d be me taking care of it, she thought.

Neither Sam nor Dean had ever seemed to notice the now two towering stacks. It was like they had a blind spot. Claiming they weren’t used to getting mail was no longer an excuse she’d accept, as they’d been here long enough they _should_ be used to it.

Sitting down with a cup of caffeine free peppermint tea (it seemed to soothe the mild nausea she had most days), she began to go through each piece. Several on top were checks and she’d deposit them tomorrow morning in the business account. There were catalogs and magazines addressed to their various aliases, including a thick catalog from that adult website Dean liked to frequent. She half wondered if he got email offers from them as well and decided it was a definite probability.

Gwen opened each envelope and sorted the contents into stacks according to who it was for, with post-it notes that had what action was needed: read, sign, pay, etc. It was the same sort of system Patricia had used, only her supplies had been slips of paper and tape.

An hour passed in relative peace. Jack remained asleep on the blanket on the floor to her left. He’d played, then fussed so much when she’d tried to get him to nap that she’d let him keep playing until he’d passed out, a stuffed animal clutched in one hand and an army of plastic cars and trucks surrounding him. She smiled at the heartwarming picture he made and lifted a large manila envelope addressed to Dean from Rufus. A notebook beneath it caught her eye. That looked like…. Setting the envelope aside, Gwen reached for the composition notebook.

It was. The last missing journal.

Her heart beat faster, a sweat breaking out on her skin. How long had it been sitting there under all that mail? If Jo, then she, hadn’t gone on strike, Sam would’ve had it to work from. She read a few pages and felt an urgency slip over her at a paragraph of the text.

‘ _I shouldn’t have changed it so much, I know, and I am sorry, but these improvements make the binding near impossible to break. My spell should be the final incarnation of it, a perfect binding. Nothing else will be needed ever. I hate to think what could happen if someone tries to bind him without my version. Gave Neal and Patty a key to my storage unit in case he, somehow, gets loose and they hear about it before I do. Bill took a key, but had this look on his face, like he didn’t want to take it or contemplate the creature ever getting loose again. Tough. We’re in this together now, all of us. He was pissed when he realized that was what the spell meant, but it’s for the best. It is. The binding is the best it’s ever been and ever will be. It’s a small price to pay.’_

For the best. He looked to have been trying to convince himself of that as she read a short ways further. He’d kept writing that, over and over. For the best. Was that moment the beginning of the end for their friendship? Was that when the Three Musketeers fell apart? Thoughtful now, Gwen got up and retrieved Sam’s notes from the bedroom. She’d start by reading Aaron’s spell.

He could’ve been a teacher, for he’d written out each piece with a translation and notes on where he’d gotten some of the information. He’d listed Brenda/Lacey, a demon he’d tortured, and a creature he’d only listed as ‘consort to mother’, whatever that was.

One section made her draw in a sharp, alarmed breath. Surely he hadn’t been that arrogant?

The text spoke for itself and Gwen fully understood just why Aaron had been trying to convince himself of the rightness of his changes to the spell. Aaron Bennett had used a dangerous form of blood magic, the sort that often went wrong when humans tried to use it. It was a demonic form, complete with demonic language. No wonder two of those words had puzzled Sam and Dean so much. They weren’t Enochian. They were demonic, a medieval version of a demonic binding, complete with blood use.

Ronnie and Ham were right. He’d used anything, researched anything, and gone where no one should go. Gwen’s heart broke a little for him. The problem and downside with the sort of binding he’d used, and he’d freely admitted it in the text, was that it changed the spell forever. He’d strengthened the binding, yes, but he’d also bound the Campbell, Harvelle, and Bennett lines to the soul stealer. They were forever cursed to be the ones to bind him.

Oh hell. The things they were all going to have to tell their kids some day….

Gwen wiped tears from her cheeks and reached for Sam’s notes. She had to see how far off he was and get the changes to him before disaster happened. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

For the most part, the people Jo had known in high school looked mostly the same, just older, with all of the things that came with aging. Some had gained weight, some had lost, but all had aged more than Jo had thought possible in fourteen years. The star basketball player (the school had been too small for a football team, much to the disappointment of the district) now had crow’s feet by his eyes, a pot belly, and a hairline that was several inches higher on his forehead than it had been. The class stoner, Andy, was still a stoner and a good advertisement for abstaining from drugs. Jo felt a slight letdown as she studied her old classmates.

Mostly, they all looked…sad. For several of them, high school had been their glory days and they were coming down off that high hard. It was truly sad.

She picked a few more people out, matching names to older faces and then she saw her. Heather Holt. Jo spotted her as she led Dean across the gym again. Just as Jo had suspected, she was in a formal party dress and looked the same as she always had. Her reddish brown hair was in perfect curls and her makeup was flawless. Didn’t it just figure that Heather had remained the same?

Jo smirked a little at having guessed the code correctly.

Heather approached, looking at Jo with first a curious, then pleased expression. For a second, Jo would swear Heather was glad she was there, which was bizarre. Heather had hated her. She couldn’t actually _want_ Jo to be there.

“Jo Harvelle!” Heather took Jo’s hands in hers and gave her a European kiss on each cheek. “Wow! You look fabulous! Not like you’ve had two kids at all.”

That refrain was getting old.

“ _How_ do you do it? I’m not being condescending here. I read your information sheet when it came in. Career, mom, wife…. I don’t know how any woman does it all, but it looks like you do.” There was that same grating too sincere voice and overly bright cheerleader smile. “Is this your husband? Hi,” she held out her hand for Dean to shake, “I’m Heather, reunion coordinator.”

“Dean.”

“Dean,” she repeated, her extremely interested gaze sliding down him and back up in a blatant perusal that had Jo’s blood boiling in seconds. “Lovely to meet you.” Her attention returned to Jo. “We must talk later, Jo. Really catch up. I mean it. I want to hear all about the past fourteen years.” She made an enthusiastic squealing noise. “If you’re staying over, we could have breakfast tomorrow morning. Let’s. Please say yes. I really want to get together before you leave town. I mean it.”

“We’ll talk about it.” When pigs flew.

Heather touched her shoulder. “Awesome.” She pointed at the refreshment table. “Make sure you try the punch. It’s a family recipe I just had to try out for tonight.”

Dean watched her stroll away and Jo punched him in the arm as hard as she could. “Don’t look at her.”

“She seems nice.”

“Nice. Nice? Are you nuts? She’s psychotic. That woman tortured me for four years and laughed the whole time. Did you hear her just now? ‘Let’s have breakfast tomorrow.’ What was that all about?” She looked around the room again. “And we sent in money for dinner. Where the hell is the dinner we were promised?”

It didn’t even look like there was a place set up for it. Maybe it was in the old cafeteria?

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo’s high school nemesis was a babe, but Dean didn’t tell her that. She was already upset enough that Heather was acting like they’d been friends with all the ‘let’s catch up’ stuff without him openly ogling the woman. Dean thought Heather really did want to catch up.

A movement to their left caught his eye. The woman approaching them could’ve auditioned for Morticia Addams, her long straight black hair a stark contrast to her pale skin. She was too thin, however, and looked a decade older than she should. Drugs, Dean thought. Drugs and alcohol. Had to be one, the other, or both. Her voice was hesitant and husky. “Jo? Hi, it’s Jenny. Jenny Mayweather?” She looked at Jo as if afraid Jo would bite her.

“Jenny.”

At least this time she didn’t pretend she didn’t remember her. What Dean had heard of Jenny was that she was a follower and had always done whatever Heather wanted.

“Well.” Jo’s brows rose and she adjusted that huge bag on her shoulder. “How are you, Jen? You look different.”

“I’m good, I’m…good. And you? Um….” She fumbled with the booklet in her hands. “Two kids, husband, and your own business. Wow. You’ve done well.”

“Are you implying something?” She crossed her arms.

“No! Why?” Her eyes widened. “Did Tanya say something to you?” Now her voice lowered. “Don’t listen to her. Don’t you remember what a two-faced bitch she was in school? She’s just jealous, I’m sure of it. She’s not married. That Schmidt part? The ex she divorced year ago. Oh, and the babies she’s carrying? Twins and she’s not even sure who the father is. It’s sort of sad, really. I hear he was a random hookup.” She put a hand to her mouth, a bewildered expression crossing her face. “Um…. Why did I tell you that? I’m sorry. I don’t….” She took a long drink from her cup. “Must be nerves.” She turned to Dean. “Dean. Dean, Dean…. You’re Jo’s husband?”

“I am.”

“Good. Wow. Yeah…. I need more punch. Excuse me.”

When she’d gone, Jo shook her head. “That’s so like Jenny. She never could keep a secret. I don’t know why anyone ever told her anything. She was always the first one drunk. No tolerance. I see some things don’t change.”

Her sidelong glance at him was mildly triumphant.

“She always look so….” He struggled for the right words.

“Wasted?”

“No.”

“Thin?”

“No.”

“Stupid?”

“No. Gaunt and sick.”

Jo watched Jenny a minute, head tilting to one side as she thought. “No. She’s about thirty pounds thinner than she was back then and her hair was brown, not black. She’s too thin now.”

“Ah.”

“That’s weird.” Jo squinted.

Was it his imagination or did the lighting keep getting dimmer and dimmer? “What’s weird?”

“Where’s the rest of Heather’s crowd?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well….” She crossed her arms. “Jenny’s here, but where’s the other Heather? And what about Toby, Thad, Steve, and Cheryl? They were all attached at the hip in high school. The Satanic brat pack.” She sniffed, her nose scrunching up as though she was smelling sulfur.

“Maybe they couldn’t come. Look in the booklet.”

“What booklet?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“The program you chucked into that bag without even looking at it.” He reached for the bag only to have her turn so he couldn’t get his hand in it.

“I’ll get it.” With a roll of her eyes, she pulled the booklet out and opened it, reading silently, then paraphrasing what she was reading to him. “Heather Rickman is some big-shot international lawyer for a company I’ve never heard of. She’s in Japan and unreachable. Toby Tucker, whereabouts unknown. Thad Bruckner….” She frowned. “Made a fortune by taking over his dad’s car dealership right after graduation, then died in a car accident four years ago. Steve Roberts went from being janitor to being a bigwig in the company he worked for and went missing on a hunting trip four years ago. Cheryl Sussie had a successful rising career in clothing design but was murdered in San Francisco four years ago.”

That was an awful lot of ‘four years ago’. The math worked out to ten years after graduation. Dean started to get a feeling in the pit of his stomach, like maybe, just maybe, Jo had been right about there being something going on with her classmates. “Interesting.”

“Yeah…. Oh look. Cole Carson is in prison.”

“Who’s Cole Carson?”

“The guy I had the biggest crush on junior year. I was totally pathetic, me and half the girls in the class. Huh. He’s in for auto theft and fraud. Must’ve gotten sloppy.”

It wasn’t lost on Dean that _he_ should be in prison for both of those things and a whole slew of other things. “Did Ellen tell you he was trouble?”

“Of course she did. She told me every guy was trouble and out for one thing. Same thing she said about you.” Her gaze, slightly amused, lifted from the booklet. “Boy, you are, too. Trouble through and through.”

“Good thing you don’t always listen to Ellen.”

“She liked you though. _Hated_ Cole with a passion. ’Course, him stealing some of the Roadhouse stock may have had something to do with that. I think what pissed her off the most about him was that she knew he took it and couldn’t ever prove it.”

She kept up a running commentary on her classmates as they trickled in to the gym, that commentary broken only when a short, beefy man with a large beer belly and thinning hair spotted them and yelled, “Babe!”

“Oh crapsticks,” Jo said, half stepping behind him. “Hide me, Dean.”

“Why?”

“It’s Vinnie Briani.”

Before Dean could ask for clarification, Vinnie had crossed the room and was lifting Jo and spinning her around and around. It made Dean dizzy just watching. When he set her down she staggered against Dean. He steadied her with an arm around her.

“Jo-Jo! Babe, you are still smoking’!” His hand shot out, punching Dean lightly on the shoulder. “Hot ain’t she? Ain’t she hot? Mmm-mmm. Better with age.”

“Vinnie’s dad drove one of the beer trucks that came to the Roadhouse,” she explained. She didn’t need to explain that Vinnie had pursued her back then. Dean could just see it.

“This little cupcake was quite the tease in high school. All us guys had tight pants, if you know what I mean. You get what I mean?” Vinnie laughed.

Dean was beginning to understand Jo’s aversion to her high school if Vinnie and Tanya were the average specimen who’d attended. “Vinnie, was it? I’m Jo’s husband, Dean.”

Vinnie levered a knowing stare his way. “Then you definitely know what I mean.”

“Vinnie! Yo, dude! There’s no keg!” A man in a muscle shirt, shorts, and flip-flops spread his arms. “All Heather’s got here is artsy-fartsy punch and bottled beer.”

“I’m talking to Jo-Jo here!”

The man walked over. “Harvelle? Dang, I could still fit you in a locker. Look at that tiny ass.”

“Rich, hi.” Jo made a face like she’d smelled something rank.

Rich saluted her. “Harvelle. You seen Marsha Bailey yet? Chick’s ass got the size of a hippo. I can’t believe I tapped that in high school.” He shook himself like a dog did. “Course, she was about a fourth the size then she is now….”

“I’d still tap her,” Vinnie confided.

“This party is dead,” Rich announced. “Heather used to know how to throw a party, but she’s gotten hoity-toity. I’m heading out to the bars. You in, Vin?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Harvelle? You and your guy coming?”

“I think we’ll stay here awhile,” Dean told them. “See if it livens up.”

“Good luck with that.” Rich snorted. “I think it’ll be dead all night.”

“Well,” he started when they’d gone, “they seemed to think of you as one of their own.”

Jo shuddered. “God, don’t say that! Vinnie always made my skin crawl and Rich was one of Heather’s group.”

He left her to mutter to herself and went to peruse the selections on the refreshment table. Hadn’t that paper Jo had gotten had something about dinner on it? The bowls of chips, pretzels, and mints certainly didn’t count, nor did the punch and bottles of beer on ice. A woman approached him. Jenny. She started in like the Ancient Mariner and Dean listened, fascinated by the torrent of words that spewed out of her mouth until she reached for the punch ladle and paused to pour and drink another cup. He made his exit, returning to Jo and sliding an arm around her waist.

“I know what’s wrong with Jenny Mayweather.”

“She’s a moron?”

“She’s an alcoholic -- and she had wild monkey sex with Heather Holt’s boyfriend and is feeling the guilt. He’s not the only one, either. Chick’s been making the rounds.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me. Said she recognizes she has a problem, but has no motivation to do a damn thing about it. Started telling me all about it, then got sidetracked by how much she admired you in high school.”

She snorted. “She _is_ blitzed.”

“I think the admiration part is genuine.”

“Dean. She was runner-up for prom queen and little miss popular. Why would she admire me?”

“She said you didn’t take crap from anyone, got in more fights than some of the boys, and all the boys respected you.”

“I only got in two fights and I know for a fact Tommy Hinshaw didn’t respect me. Not to try what he tried.”

Tommy might not have respected her then or respect her now, but he certainly feared her. He covered his crotch with both hands every time she walked by him. Dean thought she might prefer the fear. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Nothing is wrong here. It’s a class reunion.”

“I’m not overreacting,” she said in a sure tone.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Nope.”

“Jo.”

“My gut is _screaming_ it’s all wrong.” She pressed a fist to her stomach.

“It’s nerves,” he insisted, except he wasn’t too sure of that anymore.

“It’s instinct.”

“It’s you hoping something is wrong so you have an excuse to shoot people.”

“Your point?”

“Relax.”

“No.” Turning, she sashayed to the refreshment table he’d just left, her flounce marred by the huge bag she was carrying, a bag he realized was big enough to hold Jack in it and he was big for his age. What on earth did she have in there? He no longer believed it was a change of clothes.

Dean sighed.

“Uh-oh,” came a flirtatious voice from behind him. “Trouble?”

He turned. Heather was smiling in a delighted way. “No more than usual.”

“Too bad. Jo always was a bit wild.”

“I like her wild.” He studied her a moment. “I ask you something, Heather?”

“Sure.”

“You and Jo weren’t friends, were you?”

Her smile faded. “Not really. I’m not sure what we were exactly.”

Jo had a few words for it.

“I don’t know, I…. I wish we _had_ been friends is all. I’ll admit I regret how things were back then. It’s never too late to make friends, right? Convince her we should have breakfast. Please?” She smiled again and moved towards the door.

Somehow he doubted Jo would be willing to be friends with Heather. Shaking his head, he went to the table and picked up a punch cup, sniffing at it. “Someone spiked the punch. Doesn’t smell like vodka.” He raised the cup, intending to take a sip.

Jo grabbed the cup and dumped it in the trash. “Don’t drink that piss.”

He sighed. He seemed to be sighing every few minutes now. “Honey, you know I love your attitude, but dial it back a few notches.”

“Hmmph.” She passed him a bottle of beer and took one for herself. “Mass demonic possession,” she said, opening the bottle and taking a long swig.

“No.”

“Cursed object.”

“No.”

“Damn it.”

He put an arm around her. “Face it. They don’t remember it the way you do.”

“Pod people.”

“No. I think Heather really wants to be friends.”

“No way in hell that bitch wants anything but to screw with my head and make me miserable. Mind control.”

“No.”

“Come on. You gotta work with me here, Dean. This is not normal. Jenny Mayweather is acting like we were best buddies. So is Heather. They both hated my guts.”

He heaved another sigh. This was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~

The music changed, ‘Heaven’ by Bryan Adams beginning.

Dean set his bottle down, then snatched hers and set it beside his. “Come on.” He curved his hand about her bare upper arm, tugging her with him across the room.

“Where are we going?”

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, drawing her into his arms. “Here. Dance.”

Jo adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. It was digging in something horrible now, the weight giving her a kink in her neck and making the muscles in that shoulder ache. Raising her hands, she clasped them behind Dean’s neck, letting him draw her close. “You want to dance?”

“I do and so do you.”

Heather Holt was scowling in their direction and Jo couldn’t resist leaning against Dean and smiling, rubbing it in that she was happily married and Heather was still flitting from man to man. Heather’s scowl deepened. Dean began to croon the lyrics in her ear. She tried not to wince at how off-key he was.

“….nothing could change what you mean to me….”

“Since when do you know the words?” 

“Since it’s one of your favorite songs.” A line of soft kisses was pressed to her neck.

“You listened.”

“Jo, honey, I always listen, even when you think I’m not.” His hands swept along her back, the touch tickling when his fingers met bare flesh.

“Mmm. So that means you _are_ listening when I tell you something is going on here?”

He drew back a fraction. “Jo….”

“Come on, Dean. Why is Heather staring at me? Why won’t she stop staring at me? Why is she wanting to be friends, if what you say is true?”

“I don’t know? Because you’re hot? Maybe she has latent lesbian tendencies and thinks you’d be a fun time.”

“You are so not funny.”

“She told me she regrets how things were back then, okay? Don’t you think it could be possible, even slightly, that she’s changed and wants to apologize or something?”

Heather? Apologize? “Did you drink the punch?”

His arms tightened around her. “Let’s just dance, Jo, okay?”

“Sure.” As the song came to a close, she said, “Something is going on and I’m going to find out what.” She returned to the refreshment table and pulled out Sam’s flask. Time to add some extra kick to the punch and see what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

It took far too long for Balthazar to find Castiel and when he did, he didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “You’re working for Death now? Are you insane, Castiel?”

Castiel turned to face him. “I’m not working for Death. I’m working _with_ him.”

“It’s the same thing, Cas. Working with him means you’re working for him because he has his way every time.”

“Relax, Balthazar. Everything is under control.” He slid his hands in his pockets and was looking far too relaxed for the circumstances.

“Of course it is. Are you aware of what’s headed your pets’ way?”

“Friends,” Castiel corrected with a stern glance at him.

“Whatever they are to you, Castiel, you have to intervene.”

“Who’ve you been talking to?” A slight glimmer of unease began to appear, but still not enough.

“Does it matter?”

“Things will play out as they have to for balance.”

“Keep telling yourself that. How many?” Balthazar crossed his arms.

“How many what?”

“How many hunters have died these months while you’ve done Death’s errands?”

“A proportional amount to the monsters. When the soul stealer is imprisoned --”

“Balance, I know. You’ve kept Sam and Dean from ending that creature for a future balance that Death claims will be present. Has it occurred to you that he might want all the Winchesters out of the way?”

Castiel sat on the edge of the desk. Finally, he’d stopped looking so calm and cool. “All?”

“Sam, Dean, and Jo, then Gwen. All of them. They and the soul stealer all upset his precious order. He can get rid of them in one fell swoop.”

“Now who’s seeing plots?”

Balthazar paced for a moment. “Tell me, Cas, why Sam is rushing off to deal with that creature without all the tools he needs to stop it?”

He seemed to pale, brows drawing down in a suspicious frown. “What do you mean?”

“The entire sequence is what I mean. The one Aaron wrote. He’s left already, ignorant of what his dead father-in-law damned them all with. He’s planning on using a spell that he thinks will circumvent those changes.”

“Impossible.” Alarm flashed across his features. “I put the book he’d need on the table where he’d find it with plenty of time….” He shook his head and seemed to finally come out of his calm mood completely, standing and moving close. “Are you saying that Sam never found it?”

“I am.”

He paled further. “No.”

“Yes. Are you absolutely certain your buddy Death doesn’t have plans for them that you’re unaware of? The Fate I spoke to was sure things won’t end well for the Winchesters. She seemed to think Sam and Dean Winchester are headed for a dirt bath for good.”

Castiel didn’t look too certain of anything anymore. “Sam needs that information. He and _Dean_ need it. Without it --”

“It’ll be a massacre. Theirs.”


	42. Chapter 42

Jo poured liquid into the punch bowl in a furtive movement. Dean caught her hand and took the flask from her.

“Sam know you stole his flask?” He sniffed the mouth of it and frowned. He’d been expecting alcohol, God knows why, since he’d already observed earlier that the punch was spiked. Jo’s behavior should have clued him in that it wasn’t alcohol. “This isn’t alcohol.”

“Of course Sam knows. I didn’t steal it, I asked, and it’s holy water. If anyone has a rider and drinks the punch, we’ll know it.” She snatched it back, finished pouring the liquid in the bowl and capped the flask, tossing it back into her bag. “I _had_ to borrow Sam’s. You’ve got like a death grip on yours and he rarely uses his.”

His lips tightened and he grasped her arm, tugging her with him through a door way into a deserted hall. “Give me the bag.” He tucked his fingers around the strap. Jo grabbed hold of it. Their resulting tug of war made the strap on her dress slide down her shoulder.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Dean. No.”

“Jo. Give it.”

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh of pure attitude, she let him take it and straightened the strap of her dress. “Fine.”

It was heavy, like it actually had their son in it instead of merely being big enough to hold him. Setting it on the floor, Dean crouched, unzipped it, and spread the edges. “What the hell do you have in here?” 

“Provisions.”

“Provisions?” He held up a wooden stake and mallet, staring up at her for the span of about five seconds. “Okay, Buffy. You got hairspray and a lighter in here, too?” Stupid question, as he uncovered those next.

“I have to be prepared, Dean.”

“Prepared for what?” He pulled out the next item, a thin rod a foot long. “Is this an iron rod?”

“Yes and I have to be…” she shrugged, “prepared. For anything.”

He found a gun, box of bullets, two different knives, a large container of salt, the flask, and a thermos. He thought the weight of the bag was adequately explained. “Jesus, Jo. No wonder you were starting to really list to one side.” He shook the thermos. “What’s in here?”

“A vodka collins, strong on the vodka.”

And she’d claimed she’d spilled the vodka bottle. Instead, she’d been make a thermos of mixed drink. “Why the thermos?”

“Because if it turned out I was _inconceivably_ wrong, I thought I might need the strong drink to get through the night.”

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked through the rest of the bag before putting things back. What on earth would she need the bone of a lesser saint for? Or nightshade? He sniffed at one container. Was that rosemary? “We’re putting this in the car.”

“No.” Jo shook her head, crossing her arms. “No, Dean, we’ll need that.”

Standing, he grasped both her arms and shook her gently. “Stop it! While I totally get the paranoia, you’re overreacting.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “Reunions are orderly, normal five, ten, fifteen year things. My class liked order. They liked normal. Anything or anyone different was mocked, spit on, and bullied until, it, _they_ either broke down or fought back. For them to do an odd-numbered year reunion is bizarre, not to mention Jenny Mayweather’s behavior and Heather Holt’s insistence that everyone try the punch. What the hell? I don’t want to try the freakin’ punch!”

“Calm down.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “People grow up.”

She snorted. “You never knew these people. You were one of them in high school, the popular, cool kids. Sam said. You don’t understand --”

“I understand these people hurt you back then, and believe it or not, honey, I do understand what you went through. I watched it with Sam.”

“Hurt, humiliated….” Her features scrunched up and he saw tears slip from her eyes.

“Why did we come to this,” he asked, drawing her against him and wrapping his arms around her. If she really hadn’t wanted to come, then why had she? If being back here hurt this much, why had she agreed to do it? Her body shook against his. 

“I don’t know,” she sniffled against his chest. “Something stupid about resolving old hurts and closure.”

Of all the things in the world Dean hated, he thought that watching Jo cry was the worst. He wanted to take that pain away and make it all better for her. This time, he didn’t think it was possible. She had too many issues with her former classmates to have any sort of real closure or resolution. “Okay. I don’t think we’re going to accomplish that. What’s say we stay another half hour or so, see if that dinner we were promised appears, then go get a pizza somewhere and catch a movie?”

She pulled back, nodding and wiping at her eyes. “I’d like that.” She sighed and looked down at the bag. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s nothing going on. I just…assumed there was.”

“I get that, too, you know.” He retrieved the bag, shouldering the strap. 

“Heather, Jenny, and Tanya were always up to something. It seemed logical that that’d continue.” She took a few steps back towards the gym.

“Logical,” he agreed. “Why did you bring nightshade, rosemary, and the bone of a lesser saint?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea. We always have to have one of those for some thing or another. I kind of hoped we wouldn’t have to use the lesser saint bone. My bone guy told me last time he only had a couple more left and I needed to get a new supplier.”

“You were being prepared.” She was right. They did seem to always need those things.

“I was.”

“You know, if something did happen, we have the entire well-stocked trunk of the Impala right outside.”

“True, but we might not be able to get to it.”

She had a point and seemed in a much better mood at the prospect of leaving soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Upon returning to the gym, Jo actually felt lighter than she had emotionally. It helped that Dean understood where she was coming from. There wasn’t getting past the past on this. Better that she set it all aside and let it go. She’d go home and never think about high school again.

Taking another bottle of beer, she opened it and caught sight of Heather off to one side, half hidden behind decorations and making tiny signs in the air with one hand. Jo watched her a moment, then looked at where Heather was making gestures just as Jenny began to tell yet another person all about how slutty and drunk she was. 

Jo smiled. It seemed that was all Jenny could talk….

Oh my God, she thought. I was right. I was really right. 

She almost laughed as she put the pieces together and nudged Dean with her elbow.

“What?”

She jerked her chin at Heather. “What does that look like to you?”

He watched, good mood sliding away and scowl forming. “Trouble. You’ve got to be kidding me.” He set the bag down. It thumped on the floor. “You were right.” 

“All these years of thinking of her as a witch --”

“I thought the word was ‘bitch’.”

She waved a hand. “That too. And here she is. Really a witch.” She couldn’t help laughing. Heather Holt was a witch. An honest to God, demon deal for powers, going to hell witch. Justice would eventually be quite the bitch for Heather. “Jenny may be an alcoholic, moronic slut, but I think she’s been humiliated enough for one night.”

“She did have a twice-weekly afternoon delight going with Heather’s boyfriend for nearly a year,” he pointed out. “Not that I approve of what the witch is doing, I just thought I’d mention that.”

“Nearly a year?”

“Yup. Every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Damn.” She chewed at her lower lip. “How many people do you think she’s confessed to?”

“About ten, maybe more. She was here when we got here.”

“Okay. We’ll let this last humiliation finish, then confront Heather.”

“You sure you want to confront her?”

“Why not?”

“She’s a witch?”

“Yeah, but it’s _Heather_. If she never hexed me in high school after everything, why would she start now? We were total enemies back then. She had all the time in the world to hex me and didn’t.”

“Maybe the witch part didn’t happen until later.”

She thought of all the times Heather had miraculously beat out other kids for awards and things and how she’d never studied, yet was valedictorian, and how she’d suddenly become a swan instead of duckling in junior high. “No, she’s been one for years now, I’m sure of it.” Not to mention all her talk tonight about trying the punch and how it was an old family recipe.

“What if she goes all witchy on you?”

“I’ll punch her. The sight of her own blood has always freaked her out. It’ll stop her dead.”

“Oh, well, at least you have a plan.”

Going to Heather, she tapped her on the shoulder while she was still making gestures. Heather turned and, even though it didn’t look like she was going to start anything witchy, Jo gave her a punch just in case, feeling great satisfaction in seeing her reel back against the wall. “I knew it,” Jo said as Heather pushed off from the wall and touched her fingers to her nose. “I knew you were a freakin’ witch, you witch.” She jabbed a finger at her.

Heather wiped the blood away and gagged at the sight of it. “How did you know?”

“Try the punch? Family recipe? Really? Little gestures, Jenny totally spilling secrets like usual, but not having any control over it? Come on, Heather. Did you coordinate this reunion just to play little games with people? How many others are you working on right now?”

“The punch isn’t a spell. It’s Wyler’s fruit punch, mixed berries, 7-up, and a splash of Jack Daniels. My mom used to make it on New Year’s Eve, only she used like most of a bottle of Jack in hers.” She shrugged. “So what if I’m a witch? Why do you care? It’s my life. As for Jenny, she was supposed to be my best friend.” Her glance slid to Dean and back to Jo. “Not that it’s any of your business or anything, but Mike and I were engaged, okay? Then she decided she had to have him like she always did and I snapped. Can you blame me? She stole boyfriends in high school and when I finally find the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with, she seduces him when he’s drunk and blackmails him into keeping it going.”

“Blackmailed?” No, this wasn’t how this was supposed to be going. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling sorry for Heather. She wasn’t supposed to be suddenly thinking that maybe Jenny was sort of getting what she deserved.

“Yeah. Total ‘I’ll tell Heather if you break it off’ sort of thing. He broke down and confessed about a week ago and because I’m a little pissed, I thought what better revenge than to expose her to everyone for what she is: a drunk tramp.” Her small smile was pleased. “She’s been singing like a bird for three days now and I’m going to continue it until I feel she’s humiliated herself as much as I’ve been hurt.”

“What you’re doing is wrong.”

“Oh, please, Jo.” Her lips twisted in a scornful smirk. “Like you wouldn’t have done something similar? I remember you from high school. You kicked Tommy Hinshaw into soprano range because he copped a feel and tried to get his hand down your jeans.”

“That was totally different. I didn’t spend days kicking him. I kicked him once and got my point across.”

“You think he wasn’t humiliated? He had to go to the hospital. The guys on the team weren’t easy on him for that.” She looked around the room, made a few gestures and whispered something under her breath.

An increasingly bewildered looking Jenny started loudly telling a group of three people that she’d been boffing Heather’s fiancée for a year and felt no regret about it at all.

“Put yourself in my shoes here. The fact that I’m a witch means I can do something about it. Do you really think Jenny is going to mess with me again? Or go after another soon to be married man? Maybe she’ll stop going after other women’s men completely. I’m doing a public service here.”

“Hypocrite,” Jo spat, remembering how warmly Heather had looked at Dean earlier.

“How?”

“You were eyeing my husband not half an hour ago.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “I’m engaged, Jo. I’m not dead. Honestly, your husband is easy on the eyes.”

“You were scowling at us while we were dancing.”

“No,” she crossed her arms, “I was scowling at that bitch hitting on Ty Jacobs. He’s married with five kids. She can’t pull that shit with a guy who has five kids.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Watch me, Harvelle.” She glanced at Dean. “I mean Winchester.”

“I’ll stop you.”

“You and what army? I make a few gestures and she starts stripping, too.”

She held up her fists. “This army. You want another pop, witch? Still not good seeing your own blood, are you?”

Their argument began to get a little heated.

~~~~~~~~~~

Was it wrong to snicker at the punishment Heather had seen fit to give Jenny? The fact that she was a witch skeeved him out, but that punishment? Well-thought out and suited to the person according to what Jo and Heather were saying. He paid their argument only half attention, keeping an eye on the room.

The door opened and Dean glanced at it. A familiar form stepped inside the room. “Sam?” Dean squinted. That was indeed Sam just inside the doorway, giving directions to Sophie and…. “The Trickster? What the hell are they doing here?”

The Trickster walked to the wall and pulled the fire alarm. Nothing happened.

Jo gestured at it with her beer. She and Heather seemed to have reached an impasse in their argument over whether or not it was morally right for Heather to use her witchcraft to humiliate Jenny and were both pretending the other didn’t exist. “I could’ve told them not to do that. It never worked, even after Heather’s daddy bought the building. I should know. I tried pulling it out of boredom a ton of times.”

“Always the troublemaker,” Heather snorted. “God, it’s a wonder you’re not in prison.” She wasn’t happy at being told she was wrong, yet Jo had been right. Heather showed no inclination towards hexing her or anything.

He strode across the floor to meet Sam, Jo and Heather right behind him. “Sam? What’re you doing here?”

“Dean, we’ve got to get these people out of here, like now, and what do you mean what am I doing here? Why don’t you have this place evacuated already?”

“I mean, what’re you doing here. Why is _he_ here?”

The Trickster stepped over. “Oh, you didn’t tell him. Smart move.” He made a circle with thumb and forefinger and held it up.

“Teddy can help. Didn’t you get my messages? I’ve called like twenty times.”

“Teddy? You gave the monster a name? Are you insane? We don’t give the monsters names. What messages? All I got was one call and a weird message that was all hisses.”

“I’ve always had a name,” Teddy the Trickster said with a smirk. “You just never bothered to ask it.”

He pointed at him. “De-juiced monsters don’t talk.”

“Monster,” Heather asked. Her nose and upper lip looked red and slightly swollen. “Did he just say monster?”

“Oh, you _really_ didn’t discuss your plan, did you?” Teddy crossed his arms, looking insufferably pleased and arrogant.

“Tell me what, Sam? What’s he talking about?”

Jenny Mayweather wandered over.

Sophie came forward, a large bag in her hands. “The soul stealer is on his way here to take you and Jo. He plans to make a public spectacle, which means he’s going to kill everyone here.”

“What’s a soul stealer?” Heather kept asking questions though no one was paying any attention to her now. “Why is it coming here?”

“How did he find us here? Did he follow us?”

“He already knew about the reunion.” Sophie crouched down and unzipped the bag she carried. “Where do you want to set this up, Sam?”

“Clear off the end of the table over there.” He pointed at the refreshment table. “I can’t believe we beat him here. I thought he’d already be here.”

Jenny Mayweather began to laugh. It had a hysterical ring to it, that laugh ending in sobs. “I’m sorry, Jo. I’m so sorry. Mick said…. He….”

They all turned to face her, even Heather, who made a few more gestures Dean was starting recognize as the spell for Jenny to tell the truth.

“You know Mick,” he asked, brows raising. “How do you know Mick, Jenny?”

“You have to understand. I was in college. I was into some pretty weird things and he got me out of them. I owed him big time. He came to me and said you were possessed and I could help you. I know how dangerous a possessed person is. I was one once. He wanted to know if I’d seen you and I told him about the reunion, that you’d sent back your RSVP.” She sniffled. “But you’re not possessed. I can see that. You’re the same Jo I knew….”

Jo’s hands curled into fists. “You told him about the reunion?”

“Yes?” Her voice sounded tiny. “I told him you lived in that town in South Dakota, but I didn’t have your address, just a box number. I told him all about what you put on your sheet --”

“You dumb, drunk slut! Mick’s the one who’s possessed and now he has all the information on me and my family!”

He didn’t have their address, but he had a ton of other things. A chill slid over Dean. This had to end now.

“I know that now!” She stepped back, tripped over Sophie and landed hard on her back. There was a crash and Sophie shoved Jenny off the bag.

“Damn it. She broke the jar of holy water.” She touched a hand to the inside of the bag and held it up.

Sam shook his head. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get people out of here and get the spell set up. Sophie, Teddy, and Jo, try to get some of these people out of here. Dean, help me?”

“Spell?” Heather raised her hands, waving them about. “Are you witches, too?”

“No,” Sam said, Dean a moment after, and Jo and Sophie mostly in unison.

“Difference between what we do and what you do?” Dean helped begin laying items out. “We don’t hurt people. We do what we do to get rid of the evil uglies in the world like the one headed right for us. Any spells we do are for that purpose. He eyed Jenny, gestured at her. “I think what you’re doing to Jenny is disgusting. Release her and let her go sleep it off somewhere. I guarantee she’ll be plenty humiliated tomorrow when she sobers up.” He turned his attention to Sam and indicated Jo’s bag. “We’ve got provisions, too. Jo brought a bunch of things.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heather make a final set of gestures and then Jenny was rushing across the gym and into one hallway. “Done. What can I do to help?”

“Help get people out of here before he gets here.”

Heather set off across the room.

Sam set the bag on the floor. It still had something else in it, something heavy that Dean hadn’t been able to see before Sam moved the fabric. “We need holy water. There a church nearby?”

Dean reached for the punch bowl and set it beside him.

“What’s this?” He gestured at it.

“Holy water, Wyler’s fruit punch, 7-up, Jack Daniels, and mashed berries.” Dean nodded. “My wife is paranoid, okay? She gets an invitation to her high school reunion and automatically assumes it’s an evil trap to kill her. She poured your entire flask of holy water into the punch.”

“She’s sort of right in a roundabout way.”

“Yeah. Helluva gut instinct on her.”

Sam ladled some of it into a bowl. “Holy punch it is.”

Getting people to leave wasn’t working. Most were already drunk enough they didn’t care what was going on, continuing to dance and talk, ignoring the hunters trying to get them to leave.

Jo managed to get several people out and returned to the table, crossing her arms. “See? I told you we had to be prepared.”

“I’ll never laugh at your need to be prepared ever again,” Dean promised.

“Yeah you will.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Didn’t I tell you this place was hell’s armpit?”

“That you did.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The soul stealer strolled down the street, taking his time reaching the building. With Mick’s mind open, he’d been pleased to discover a link to the Harvelle heir and a way to exploit that link. Now, he’d reap the benefits and take care of two of the heirs. Then, there’d be only two remaining.

Sam and the child, Jack.

He jammed the outer doors, caught a few people in the parking lot as a warm-up snack, and headed into the building. Inside, he was pleased to note his job was quite a bit easier. Sam Winchester was present as well, and he’d even brought Sophie.

With a roar, he began his attack.

~~~~~~~~~~

This was hardly going the way Dean had hoped it would.

Teddy was lifted and thrown down, a table smashing beneath him. He went still and Sophie started towards the creature, trying to use the iron rod from Jo’s bag like a knife. It’s flesh sizzled at the contact, the first real weakness they’d seen. Dean was glad for the reminder that he could be hurt because nothing was working.

The spell to immobilize him wasn’t doing squat and the spell to imprison him wasn’t working. Sam’s careful changes had done nothing and it was obvious that whatever Aaron had done couldn’t be circumvented. They tried five different versions of the immobilizing spell to no use. None of the tries did anything.

He felt panic rising inside him and saw the same panic on Sam and Jo’s faces. They were screwed. He had the sick realization that this could very well be their last stand.

The creature swung at Sophie, punching her. She stumbled and fell, her head hitting the floor, dazing her. Rolling over onto her hands and knees, she crawled weakly back towards the refreshment table.

Dean drew his gun. Jo and Sam did the same. “Let’s make this count and wound the son of a bitch as much as we can.” He and Sam moved around the table, Jo behind them. He, then Sam, took shots until they reached Sophie and Jo could help her to her feet and back to the table. 

He started to follow and found himself grabbed before he could take two steps, his throat in the soul stealer’s tight grip.

He couldn’t look away, staring into it’s eyes, as defiant as he’d ever been, determined not to let the bastard inside. He’d lost himself in hell and there was no way he was going to lose himself, his soul, ever again. “You can’t hurt me,” he gasped out, and for a second, he expected to feel his soul ripping away.

Surprise rippled across Mick’s face. “Impossible. Only a few people have ever had the will to resist me.” He growled, baring teeth that were now sharp, jagged edges. His fist snapped forward, sending Dean stumbling and falling where Teddy was starting to come to. Dean fell on the jumble of chairs and broken table, that spot on his lower back that never seemed to heal right anymore protesting. He cried out. An arc of pain slid from back to shoulders and he forced himself to push through it and get up, returning to the table where the tools were.

Jo was trying to get Heather to help revise the binding using her witch knowledge, but the woman refused, shaking her head and ducking down behind a table like it’d save her somehow. Apparently her willingness to help only went so far.

Sam reached Teddy, getting him to his feet. The two set about trying to herd people at least into the hallways so they weren’t sitting ducks in the large room. There was too much panic and the soul stealer was too fast, snatching people away and tossing them aside as fast as Sam and Teddy convinced them to go a different way than the crowd. The creature wasn’t savoring them at all, but rather looked like he was wolfing down the appetizer to get to the main course: them.

Dean felt like they were drowning.

Nothing was working. Little was hurting him save the iron and what could they do with it? His thoughts churned furiously to come up with a plan. He had nothing and it didn’t appear Sam or anyone else had a plan either.

Suddenly, he was gone. The attacks ended. Sam cut the power to the music and in the lull, Dean went to the center of the room to assess, leaving Jo to keep Heather calm. His gut was screaming not to go, that something horrible was going to happen. “Where did he go,” he muttered. “What’s he up to?” He turned…and saw the soul stealer hanging on the damn wall like a monkey over Jo.

He couldn’t get to her in time. “No! Jo!”

She was tossed against the wall, the creature reaching for Heather. He heard a sickening crunch as Jo landed. Dean hurried to her, knelt by her side and pulled her up into his arms. She looked up at him, face a mask of pain and regret.

They were never going to see their son grow up, never meet Sam and Gwen’s baby, and never grow older together. He nodded, acknowledging the truth of that to her. It was their life and they’d both known it could end like this.

Tears slipped from her eyes.

They were all going to die here.

He took a deep breath. At least they were all going out together the way they should be: fighting.

Dean showed her his gun in silent question. Did she want him to use his last bullet to put her from the creature’s reach and save her soul?

Jo raised a shaking hand, pointing at Mick. “Hit the bastard.” 

That was his Jo, his wife. Fight to the end. She didn’t take the easy way out. Never had and wouldn’t even now.

Dean aimed at Mick’s head, though it wouldn’t do any good. Their deaths weren’t going to be easy or painless. Instinctively, he knew the creature planned to torture them all. No matter. They’d go down swinging and keep on swinging until their last drops of blood had been shed.

It was, after all, the Winchester way.

~~~~~~~~~~

If Balthazar had tried to tell him that Death had a vendetta towards the Winchesters and their mates, Castiel wouldn’t have quite believed him because Death was one of very few beings who didn’t resort to petty actions. Death’s sole concern was with balance and order, everything he did or sanctioned working towards that goal. Sure, the Winchesters annoyed him on several levels, but he wouldn’t go gunning for them unless it was part of keeping that balance and order he strove to maintain.

The news that a Fate was involved ramped up Castiel’s feelings to a clear panic. If the Fates were assisting Death, anything could happen. Death could very well have the Winchesters in his sights. 

He held on to the idea that free will could trump it all. Free will had stopped the apocalypse. Sam and Dean weren’t likely to roll over and let themselves be killed. They’d stopped such plans many times before.

Yet without the information in that journal, they most likely would be killed.

Castiel was already on his way to the Winchester house to retrieve the journal when the summons from Gwen came. He put on a burst of speed, arriving just as Abigael did.

In a dizzying whirl of words, he found himself holding Jack, deputized by Abigael so to speak, in charge of his care if she didn’t return. The sick sensation in the pit of his stomach increased and he took the crying child to Ellen, waiting there with her, unable to answer her questions and unable to leave the child unprotected.

Once again, he was on the sideline and unable to act -- unless he abandoned Jack, and he knew Dean would want him to keep Jack safe.

Castiel swallowed his urge to follow Abigael and Gwen and played the waiting game. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Castiel, I need you now!” Even as she cried out, Gwen was moving, packing the items they’d need when she arrived. Her list of items was a little different than that list Sam had worked from.

The ceiling light in the kitchen exploded as two angels appeared in the living room.

Jack began to cry and Gwen picked him up, turning to Abigael. “Good, you’re here, too. I need you to take him to Ellen and protect him. Castiel, get me to the reunion --”

“No.” Abigael moved forward. “Cas, you can’t.”

“Why not?” He began to stretch his hand out to her, but Abigael grabbed it.

“Gwen’s pregnant. You can’t take her there. You’re not the guardian of the child inside her. You have to take Jack to Ellen, keep watch over him in my stead.”

“But --”

“I have to remain with Gwen. She’ll be the one in immediate danger. Stay with Jack until this is done. I pass that job temporarily to you. Don’t leave him unprotected. It’s critical he have an angel over him until the creature is put away. If this fails, you could be protecting him a very long time.”

“I don’t care who does it, just get me there!” Gwen was feeling antsy, like maybe she was already too late.

Abigael turned to her. “Understand first that I can only protect you and the child in you. The others are fair game. I can’t intervene for them if something happens. None of us can. You’re the only one protected in any way.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so. You realize you could already be the sole survivor?”

“Yes.” She felt like she was going to throw-up at that.

“If that’s the case --”

“I know. Collect some of their blood and do the ritual immediately.” She handed Jack to Castiel and shouldered the bag she’d put supplies in.

“Can you do this if they’re dead, Gwen? Can you turn off your emotions to get it done?”

Could she? Could she harvest their blood and finish this while looking at evidence that her friends, family, and husband were gone forever? “I have to. Not doing it isn’t an option, is it?”

Castiel was silent, the worry clear on his face. He held Jack easily and she wondered if part of his ease was his vessel’s muscle memory on how to hold a child. He rubbed Jack’s back in a comforting gesture. The boy hiccupped and shoved a fist into his mouth.

“I’m ready.”

A firm hand touched her shoulder and the sight of Castiel holding Jack winked out, replaced quickly by an old school building. 


	43. Chapter 43

This was the suckiest reunion ever.

That refrain kept going through Jo’s mind as they tried to take down the soul stealer. She’d known she’d regret coming to this stupid thing.

Dean was grabbed and for some reason tossed aside. Saving him for later maybe? Jo shook her head to clear that morbid thought. “Come on, Heather,” she coaxed, when what she really wanted to do was punch her again. “Give me something, _anything_. This is your specialty, remember? Witchy sort of things.”

Heather was terrified, genuinely so. She’d never been a good enough actress to pull off such convincing terror. It seemed unbelievable to Jo that Heather could deal with a demon for powers, yet be so completely terrified by the soul stealer. “No!”

“Heather,” Jo hissed. “You’re a friggin’ witch! Toss something at him!”

“You don’t understand! I can’t! I don’t know any spells to deal with things like that! I never even learned how to make up my own! I’ve been using other people’s books!” She tightened her arms about her legs, pressing her face to her knees and crying.

What sort of spells did she know then? Stupid little things like she’d done to Jenny? If so, she was a pretty pathetic witch. Didn’t that just figure? The witch Jo knew personally wasn’t even a very good one.

The soul stealer advanced on Heather’s position, reaching to pull away the table she was hiding behind and Jo shook her head. “Damn it.” She got to her feet and raised her gun, firing at Mick’s head and chest, driving him away from Heather. He retreated with roars of pain and rage, resuming his attacks on their classmates, but she was able to reach Heather and drag her back to where she and Sophie were.

They’d gotten a few people out, but a large number of Jo’s former classmates lay still on the floor of the old gym, either unconscious or dead, their souls gone. She’d seen triumph on the creature’s face with each person tossed aside. 

This certainly wasn’t helping her issues with high school.

Dean reached the table and crouched down behind it, digging in Jo’s bag and tossing aside things they already knew didn’t work. In frustration, he pushed the bag away.

Jo shoved Heather down beside Dean, who now cocked a brow and said in a pleasant tone, “You know you’re going to hell, right?” The tone belied the panic in his eyes, a panic Jo was feeling herself. No way this was ending well.

Heather frowned. Her makeup was smudged and Jo felt a glimmer of righteous justice at finally seeing Heather with her makeup smeared and raccoon eyes. It had been a long time coming. “Are you…witnessing to me?”

“Nope. Stating a fact. You made a pact with a demon for some powers -- piss poor ones, I might add -- and the usual deal is your soul when you finally die. You’re in for a hot time and I don’t mean sexy. Give you awhile in the pit and you’ll become a demon down there, just like the hellspawn you dealt with.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re just saying that. Hell isn’t real.”

“Right. Neither are demons or the creature smorgasbording your classmates.”

“Speaking of him, Dean….” Jo eased up to a standing position. “Where did he go?”

The flickering lights lent an eerie gloom. Silence fell on the room as Sam cut the power to the music. Jo saw Sam and Teddy walk the room, Dean and Sophie meeting them, searching for Mick in the gloom. Where was he? Where had he gone? 

That silence felt weighted.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she turned, ready to fire even as Dean yelled her name and started back towards her.

She was lifted and tossed to the wall like a rag doll. Her gun went flying and she felt something in her arm snap on impact, searing pain sliding from her shoulder to her fingers. She saw something white sticking out of her arm…. The pain made her stomach roll with nausea.

Mick dragged Heather to her feet and grasped her by the throat, preparing to eat her soul. She twisted in his grip, squeezing her eyes shut.

Dean knelt beside Jo, holding her close against him. She knew that their time was coming, but they were hunters and they’d fight to the end, holding on as long as they could in hopes that they could either finish what they’d started or that someone somewhere would be able to finish it for them. He took the shot, the bullet hitting Mick square in the forehead, throwing him back and making him release Heather, who scrambled over to where they were and put them between her and the creature.

Sam, meanwhile, had dragged the bag he’d brought from beneath the table and was taking out a box and a hammer. Jo thought she recognized that box.

She cradled her arm, teeth clenched in an effort to keep from screaming from the pain.

The soul stealer headed for Sophie, Teddy getting in his way. He grabbed the Trickster by the throat with both hands, choking him. The few little tricks Teddy was capable of weren’t helping him escape the creature and he thrashed in that grip, movements increasingly sluggish.

Several of the already flickering lights blew out in a shower of sparks and the outer doors opened with a bang.

Gwen and Abigael were silhouetted for just a moment, the wide spread of Abigael’s wings clear behind them, and then Abigael raised what looked like a sword that burst into flame, illuminating the entire room.

They started forward.

~~~~~~~~~~

He was winning. Had there ever been any doubt as to the outcome of this party?

The soul stealer grinned as he choked the blond man, delighting in the feel of him thrashing and the sound of him struggling to draw in breath. It was down to the last of them now, a few inconsequential people and the heirs. He was almost ready to start in on them. Maybe he’d even save Sophie for last as a present to Mick. The man could watch as the creature finished off her soul and broke her body.

A giddy glee began to course through him. He was going to be free forever, able to drink any soul he chose without fear of being imprisoned. It had been so long since he’d been free and he could practically taste freedom.

The bang of the door alerted him to latecomers to the party and he turned his head, that grin fading away as he recognized one of the two women there.

Impossible.

He shook his head in denial of what he was seeing.

No. The Bennett heir was dead. He’d watched her die.

He dropped the man in his grip, studying the winged creature beside Gwen.

For the first time in a very long time, the soul stealer felt real fear. He knew exactly what that winged creature was. She was an angel. He hadn’t seen an angel in centuries and to see one with the woman he’d thought he’d killed months ago meant something he didn’t want to contemplate.

Had the angel raised her? Brought her here?

No. No way was he going to be imprisoned again and not by _her_. Not by Aaron Bennett’s daughter.

He started across the floor towards her and the angel, determined to rip both of them apart. He may not be able to drink the soul of the angel’s vessel, but he could certainly do some damage.

~~~~~~~~~~

A part of Sam had prayed that this wouldn’t go south, that he could do this without Aaron’s changes, and he was devastated that he’d been so wrong. Usually they were good at making things up, at not sticking to the script, and doing the unexpected. 

He dragged the bag out from under the table as fast as he could.

Didn’t it just figure that this would be the one time they _had_ to use the script? 

It was time to move on to plan B: use a full-powered Teddy as a diversion and get the hell out of Dodge. They’d have to regroup and try to fight another day. He hadn’t told Teddy about plan B, nor had he shared it with Sophie or anyone. Plan B was a last resort and he was confident that Teddy could keep the creature confused long enough for them to escape and for Teddy himself to escape.

Abigael and Gwen’s sudden appearance made him pause for the briefest of seconds and he drank in the sight of Gwen, ninety percent afraid this would be his last glimpse of her. She was holding papers in one hand and had a bag with her. Had she found something that could help? He hoped that was why she’d come and glanced at Dean. 

Dean had seen the box, recognized it, and divined what Sam intended, his eyes widening and he yelled, “Sam, no! Don’t you do it!” He lifted Jo, carrying her to the table.

The soul stealer let go of Teddy, striding towards Gwen and Abigael.

“We need the distraction,” he yelled back and, with a quick prayer that he was doing the right thing, he dragged the Trickster power containment box close. “Teddy!”

Teddy looked over at him, defeat on his face. With only partial powers, he was unable to fully heal the wounds he’d been dealt thus far over the night. He could very well be dying.

Sam swung the hammer, making cracks in the box, continuing to hit it until a ribbon of white broke free, shooting to the Trickster. For a second, his entire body glowed white and then he was gone.

“Distraction, huh?” Dean snorted. “He bugged out and left us.” He gently set Jo down by the wall. 

The woman with smeared makeup and the name Sam hadn’t caught sat beside Jo and began talking to her and smoothing her hair.

Dean’s fear was a fear Sam also held, until he saw two of Teddy appear and begin taunting the creature, saying something about beloved children and payback being a bitch. He abandoned the ruined box and met Gwen and Abigael at the table.

~~~~~~~~~~

The outer doors were all blocked with cars.

Abigael pulled a sword from beneath her coat and it occurred to Gwen that she hadn’t seen Abigael wear a long coat since she’d graduated from Castiel’s program. The coat had covered wherever she’d had the sword hidden, like she’d been waiting for Gwen to call. Maybe she had. It wouldn’t surprise her anymore. Abigael cleared her throat. “Smart way to keep humans out.”

“You’re not human.”

“No. I believe they’re in the gym. Follow me.” Abigael approached the doors at the gym section of the building and raised a hand. The mess parted, the doors blowing open.

For the barest part of a second, before she stepped into the building, Gwen thought she saw a woman standing to one side holding a book and watching them.

The gym was torn apart. There were streamers on the floor and the contents of a woman’s purse by the door. One table remained standing. The rest were smashed, chairs thrown about, and there were far too many bodies for Gwen’s comfort. It looked like Jo’s reunion wasn’t a success. That was definitely going to add to her issues with high school. In a sweeping glance, she saw Sam hit something and a familiar ribbon of white streak across the room.

In her mind’s eye, she remembered dying in that car, a slim mist of that same white stuff moving towards her.

She saw Jo, in Dean’s arms, and she saw that there was a chance she was in time to end this.

Gwen headed straight for the table, smoothing out the pages she’d copied and setting the bag on the table. She was relieved to see them alive and somewhat holding their own. Gwen assessed Jo in a second, wincing, but not moving to tend to her. There was no time until he was dealt with and Gwen didn’t think she could doctor Jo’s arm this time anyway, not with bone sticking out. Jo needed professional care.

Sam and Dean met her.

She went straight into the explanation of where they were wrong. “First off, the conjugation of the verb is wrong here and here.” She spread out the papers in her hand and pointed. “It’s all wrong.”

“Enochian has conjugations? Seriously?” Dean rolled his eyes. “And that’s a verb?”

“I know. I know, it surprised me, too. The original form was different. Aaron changed it for the Trickster, see? You can’t use the Trickster version. It has to be the original.” She pointed to the papers. “You need the original and….” She licked her lips. “He added a demonic version of blood magic. That’s what those last words you couldn’t figure out were. Demonic language. You need blood from the four of us. You, me, Sam, and Jo. Before it didn’t have to be the bloodlines that did this, but what Aaron did changed that. It not only bound the soul stealer tighter, it also bound _us_ to _him_. Our family will always have to be the ones to do this from now on.”

“He complicated it?” She heard outrage in Sam’s tone and fully sympathized.

“Hurry,” Abigael sing-songed. Heat emanated from the flaming sword, but Gwen was the only one that didn’t seem to be sweating from it. She didn’t feel heat at all while sweat was beginning to drip down everyone else. “Ted is a match, but won’t be for long. He’s already anticipating Ted’s moves and I believe he’s identified Ted’s avatar.”

Gwen shrugged. “He thought he was improving it, making it stronger.”

“Demonic blood magic never does that. It’s not meant for human use.” Sam slid a finger down the text as he read. “Dean, hand me the holy punch again.”

“Holy punch?” Gwen frowned.

“Jo’s doing,” Sam and Dean answered together.

“Oh. So _that’s_ why she borrowed your flask.” She should’ve figured.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing Gwen with Abigael brought hope back to Dean. Maybe today wasn’t the day they died.

Jo was cradling her arm, oblivious now to all but the pain. It was a bad break, he’d seen that in a second. Heather was beside her, obviously having decided they were allies and friends because Jo had tried to save her. Fickle witch. She was keeping Jo calm though, keeping her mind off the break as much as possible. He left Jo with Heather and went to help Gwen with whatever she had in mind. Wasn’t like she could make things worse, was it?

At the moment, he’d like to raise Aaron from the dead and kill him for rearranging the entire ritual. Demonic blood magic? Had the man been nuts? “She knew something would happen. Jo did.”

“Yeah, we don’t just claim things like that for our own amusement, guys. Might want to start listening.” Gwen handed him the corrected paper and took a vial and needle over to Jo. She collected blood from each of them, quick and efficient in the task, and mingled it all in a small glass bowl.

“I said hurry, not chitchat,” Abigael interjected. Teddy’s avatar disappeared with an agonized cry and Abigael strode forward to meet the creature, blocking the way with her sword. Fire licked along the edge of the blade. “You can’t have her. I won’t let you.” 

He didn’t seem concerned about the fire, stepping close enough that he should be able to feel the heat from it. “Maybe not today, but some day I will have the children. Maybe not this child, or the one in Sioux Falls, but some descendant, some day. They’ll be mine and I’ll be free forever.”

“I protect them all. All you’ll find is me.”

“So cocky, angel. Why so certain you’ll win?”

“Why so certain we won’t,” she countered.

The two began to pace back and forth, each looking for an opening to being their tangle.

Gwen handed Sam the rosemary and Dean almost laughed when she asked where the bone of a lesser saint was. Jo was right. They always needed those things.

He swept a glance around the room. Teddy was using his regenerated avatar to shield the remaining classmates that were obviously alive. Or maybe it was Teddy himself. Whichever, the other Teddy had returned to the area near the table along with Sophie. They held legs ripped from the broken tables in their hands and looked ready for round one hundred and twenty seven.

A small bit of respect for Teddy began to grow inside him. Monster or not, he was fighting hard tonight.

The creature rushed at Abigael, trying to get past her to the table. Where she wasn’t, Teddy and Sophie were, driving him back, keeping him away.

Sam used a different section of table to redraw the symbols, making the corrections Gwen indicated while Dean double checked that they had everything. In minutes, they were ready to try again.

Gwen handed him the paper. “Do the honor, Dean.”

Dean yelled the binding words, the first set that should immobilize him. This time, with the correction Gwen had brought, it worked. Like it had with the Trickster, ropes of light ensnared the soul stealer. “That’s for my wife, you bastard.”

Abigael lowered her sword and stood ready, waiting should she be needed.

Dipping her fingers in the mixed blood, Gwen moved to the immobile creature. “This is for trying to kill me, for killing my grandparents, and for trying to kill my family.” She touched his forehead, then the box.

He howled and raged, struggling to break free.

Dean passed the paper to Sam. “Finish it.”

With the words Gwen had brought spoken, the soul stealer was forced out of Mick’s body and into the box. He screamed the entire time, a tortured yet irate sound. Dean knew he’d be hearing it in dreams for months to come. The symbols etched on the wood glowed red and neon-bright for long seconds before fading into slim dark lines. Mick dropped to the floor.

It was done and Dean felt very old and very tired. Exhausted. Once more, they’d saved the world and like always, no one would ever know to thank them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Months earlier, Castiel had asked Death what he’d seen and how Gwen had become useful. Lachesis had overheard the exchange. It wasn’t that she’d been eavesdropping, because she hadn’t. She’d simply been there when the conversation had occurred.

She watched the ritual Aaron Bennett had created with his changes and silently answered those questions.

__

This was what Death had seen. He’d seen what was needed to end the creature’s rampage and amended his plans because of it. He’d let Gwen live. He’d actually given them a fighting chance with that one action.

If Death had truly wanted the Winchesters -- all of them -- out of the way, all he’d had to do was take Gwen from them and then…dominoes. They would have fallen. Gwen _had_ been slated to die that night.

But he’d needed them. He’d seen what Aaron had done and known he needed all of them.

He’d even furthered that fighting chance by persuading Castiel to assist, though she doubted Castiel or the Winchesters would see it that way. Castiel’s help hadn’t been needed. The Fates could have tended to each piece and usually did. The truth of the matter was, _Castiel_ irritated Death as much as the Winchesters. More, possibly, since he was actually in the heavenly realm where Death was much of the time. He consistently displayed human choices and free will, not to mention he had God’s favor. Castiel had mucked up balance and order all on his own a few times.

All of that stuck in Death’s craw.

So he’d deliberately shown Castiel enough information to persuade him and thereby keep him out of the way running to and fro. No telling quite how this would have gone with both him and the Winchesters working together. Put them together and it was a crap shoot. The pendulum could’ve swung either way and this could’ve ended in real disaster.

It was over now. Castiel could go back to his job overseeing the Guardians. Lachesis tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Of course she knew him well enough to realize that quite soon, he’d once more get on Death’s bad side, but she thought Castiel was wiser now. He was going to look at this and see it for what it had been. He was going to understand and learn from it.

Poor angel. He’d had such a terrible period of growing pains recently.

He wasn’t the only one.

Atropos appeared. She looked like she’d been through a battle of her own. In a way, she had. Her hair was mussed and clothes wrinkled. She approached, manner mildly confused. “I thought they were to die tonight. All of them.”

“To be fair, sister, Clotho and I were ordered to withhold a piece of information from you.”

“Death?”

“No. God. He is still our ultimate boss, above our working relationship with Death.”

“He’s returned?”

“The groundwork is being laid.” She touched Atropos’ cheek. “How was your date?”

“You know how it was.”

It had gone very well until Atropos had confessed her part in Aaron’s death. She’d let herself be vulnerable and experience life, a thing both Clotho and Lachesis had been through. Their own existence was a sort of cycle in a way. Clotho was what Lachesis and Atropos would become and Atropos and Lachesis were what Clotho once had been. They were three aspects of life: the young, focused beginning, the mellow, confident middle, and the wise end.

Atropos had hit a growing marker, just like Castiel, and she was all the more pensive for it.

“Will you see him again?”

She took her book from Lachesis, tucked it against her clipboard. “I don’t know. He was angry.”

“Anger fades.”

“He was scornful.”

“Scorn, too, fades.”

“He said harsh things.”

“So do we all.” She was giving excuses, not expressing concerns.

“He rushed out after Castiel.”

“Understandable given the information you weren’t privy to.”

“I don’t like being kept out of the loop. I don’t like being off-kilter, Lachesis.” Her voice was cross and she looked almost fearful. “I don’t like not knowing.”

“I know. Neither do they. If he wants to see you again, will you go?” This was the true growth moment. Would Atropos risk herself to make something with Balthazar, something that would likely end badly? Or would she play it safe and retreat?

Atropos frowned, considering the question carefully. She held the book and board tight to her, arms hugging them to her chest. “Yes. I’ll go.”

Lachesis smiled softly to herself.

The world was changing. It was time. Some monsters were changed, some angels, the Winchesters and now, the Fates themselves. She thought it’d be interesting to see where all this change took them.

Putting her arm about Atropos, she led her away, sliding through the wave of change that crashed about them. It was a new day.

~~~~~~~~~~

With the soul stealer gone, it was obvious Mick’s body was a broken shell. The creature had ridden him as hard as the demons rode their hosts.

Dean stepped around the end of the table. 

Sophie dropped the table leg and stood over Mick. She took out her gun, the hand holding it shaking.

Mick stared up at her, his expression calm, the sort of calm that gave Dean the shivers. He recognized that expression. Sam had had it for longer than Dean cared to remember. “I remember that I loved you once,” Mick told her. He coughed, blood trickling from his mouth.

“I loved you, too.” She didn’t tell him he wouldn’t go to heaven or hell, didn’t tell him any of that. She simply raised that hand, steadied it with her other, and shot Mick in the forehead. “Still do.” Tears streamed down her face.

To Dean’s surprise, she didn’t turn the gun on herself. He’d thought she’d eat a bullet within seconds. To his further surprise, Teddy approached her, put an arm around her, and said something in her ear that made her nod and collect herself. Her spine straightened, her shoulders pulled back, and Sophie began to collect the supplies they’d brought. Teddy watched her, then began to approach Gwen.

Sam limped between him and Gwen, shielding her from him. While Sam was scratched, bloody and favoring his left leg, the Trickster was unmarked. Getting his powers back had taken care of his wounds. “You won’t bother us again.”

Teddy leaned slightly to the right to look at Gwen. She was helping Heather with Jo. “You sound sure of that.”

He did sound certain. Dean wondered why. He stepped over to Jo, Heather, and Gwen and reached down to help get Jo to her feet.

“Gwen’s pregnant, Teddy.”

“Hell.” He snorted. “You figured it out. Very good, Sambo.”

“I dug a bit deeper and it was actually Dean’s joking suggestion after you abducted Gwen that got me thinking.”

“What did you figure out, Sam?” Dean eased Jo into a chair. Her arm was as good as they could get it until they got her to the emergency room to have it set. They could set it, but Gwen didn’t think it’d be a good idea. Jo needed a doctor.

“The spark he kept going on about. It’s nothing mystical. It’s nothing really at all.”

“It’s something,” Teddy argued.

“He can only have kids with a woman who’s never had a child before. One woman, one kid.”

“Not to mention I’m very selective.” Teddy’s glance flicked to Sophie and back. “I only choose exceptional women.” He sighed. “What could have been….”

“You won’t bother us,” Sam repeated.

Teddy waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve taken all the fun out of dicking with you anyway. None of you have any sense of humor. I’ve lost interest in all of you.” There looked like something close to respect in his eyes, but Dean through he had to be seeing wrong.

“Don’t cross our path again,” Dean warned.

“You’ve got that backasswards, Dean. Don’t cross mine. I could shove you in a created reality and you’d never know it. In fact, I just might.” In seconds, he was gone.

“Are you freakin’ insane, Sam? Letting him go? Giving him his powers back? That was your plan?”

“He won’t bother us and it was plan B.”

“You’d better be right.”

“I am.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he knows what it’s like now. To be us. To be hunted and still step up and fight.” His jaw squared. “He understands what it’s like on the other side.”

“He’d better freakin’ well understand or we’re screwed. You get that, right?”

Sophie brought two bags forward and set them down. She was as much of a mess as the rest of them. Blood streaked her hair, she had a split lip, a black eye, and bruises dotted her exposed skin. “Everything is packed up. I’m outta here.” She touched Jo on the shoulder, nodded at the rest of them, and left the building.

Dean wondered if they’d ever see her again. She’d done what she’d set out to do: she’d saved Mick, or at least as much as he could be saved. He cleared his throat to get Gwen’s attention. “So, Gwen, if you’re here, who has Jack?”

She dusted off her hands. “Castiel took him to Ellen. Abigael had to come with me. She charged Castiel with protecting him, told him to stay with him and continue to protect him if we didn’t come back. I think she thought we might not make it. She certainly gave Castiel that impression.”

He nodded, understanding why Abigael had come and not Castiel. The baby. She’d protected Gwen because of the baby and now…. Did her ordering Cas to protect Jack mean that Cas was now a guardian? Or was it a temporary thing? He made a mental note to discuss it with her later, not sure how to feel about that possibility.

She was gone now he saw. When had that happened? At what point had she taken off? He couldn’t pinpoint it at all.

Turning, he found a familiar trench-coated figure crouching beside Jo’s chair. Heather had moved off and was checking on classmates. Castiel touched Jo’s arm and looked up at Dean. “The worst is taken care of, but she should still see a doctor for a cast.” Bone no longer stuck out of Jo’s arm.

Jo let out a long breath and shuddered. “Thank you.”

“Thought you weren’t allowed to heal anymore.” While still angry with Cas for keeping things from them, he was glad to see he’d done something to ease Jo’s pain.

Castiel’s gaze fell, then rose again. “No one else has been playing by the rules. I think I can bend that one enough that she’ll retain use of the arm. Do you or Sam need assistance?”

“I don’t.” He did. His back was going to hurt for days from this and he could already feel a cramp starting. He wanted angelic healing, but Dean didn’t ask and cast a glance at Sam. He saw Sam limping and wasn’t sure if Sam would accept aid for whatever was wrong.

“Your back?”

“No.”

“Don’t refuse out of pride, Dean. Take it if you need it.”

“I said I don’t.”

“Fine.” Cas nodded. “I’ll talk to Sam.” He stood. “Jack is fine. When I left, Ellen was reading to him, a story he giggled about, something about a cat and a hat of some kind.”

“His favorite.”

“So I was told.”

He saw Sam refuse healing as well and then Sam and Gwen were leaving, going to the motel to rest. They’d be there after Jo and Dean were done at the hospital. Dean watched Heather. She was crouched over one body and he took a few steps closer to see if he‘d met the person. It was Jenny Mayweather. Jenny hadn’t made it out of the building. Few people had actually made it out of the building he learned. The lucky ones were the ones who’d left earlier or hadn’t even come at all. Out of those former classmates in the room, there were only six left alive and undamaged. Three were hysterical, two were in shock, and then there was Heather. 

She stood and approached, glancing at Jo. “Family restaurant tomorrow morning at ten. Please.”

“I won’t guarantee,” he told her.

“I know.” She turned, staring at the litter of bodies. The room itself was destroyed, tables smashed, blood everywhere. “I’ll take care of this. Get Jo to the hospital before the police come.”

“You know what to say?”

Heather raised her chin, smiling a little. “I’m Heather Holt, Dean. Daughter of beloved Artie Holt and town golden child. I’ve got this.”

He led Jo out to the car, barely clearing the lot before a string of police cars pulled in. There was a sense of relief inside him that they’d once more managed to escape the slice of Death’s guillotine. But how long could they keep that up? Some day, they all had to fall.

~~~~~~~~~~

The words ‘only the Winchesters’ took on a new meaning for Castiel as he observed the aftermath of the soul stealer. With a blink, he realized that the phrase no longer meant just Dean and Sam. It hadn’t meant them alone since they’d married. The phrase now included Jo and Gwen, plus the children. It meant a family united and that day months ago when Castiel had talked with Death, it was how Death had meant it.

Slowly, he sat in one folding chair.

Castiel had been thick, not understanding, mired in the familiar use of the plural of the name. Of course Death had known Dean was married and that Sam would soon be married. He’d known both women took the Winchester name and all that went with it. He’d known they left their maiden names behind and became Winchesters upon marriage. He’d seen that Aaron had changed the ritual in a fundamental way that needed all four of them.

Death had known. 

Hence his words ‘only the Winchesters’.

He may not like the Winchesters. He may, in fact, despise them, but he’d needed them and used them just like Castiel had accused him of doing. The pieces clicked together like puzzle pieces. It was all there in the open and if he’d read the bits correctly back then, he would’ve known what was going to happen.

But why had Death let them live when he was done with them? He could’ve let something happen to them at the last second and hadn’t. Cas was almost afraid of what that meant for the Winchester family.

On the heels of that came the realization that Death had once more manipulated him out of the way. He scowled.

Was he that much of a problem that he had to be given busywork? He must be if Death purposely kept him out of the way. He’d certainly been a problem for first Zachariah, then Raphael. His scowl lessened. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he decided. It meant, in his opinion, that he and the Winchesters together could accomplish anything, even put Death’s plans awry.

He turned his mind to his relationship with Sam and Dean, recalling the hurt on their faces at Chuck’s house. All of a sudden, he felt tired. He’d lost their trust and knew that neither man really trusted easily. He’d fractured a bond that had been hard won. How could he fix it? Was it even possible?

Glancing over the aftermath once more, he began to plan how to go about rebuilding that damaged bridge between them.


	44. Chapter 44

It was on the edge of town that Sophie waited, standing beside her car. She wasn’t sure why she waited except that, over the hours they’d ridden together, she’d come to like Teddy the former Trickster. Not so former now. He had his powers back. He’d asked her to meet him here and she’d come straight here after leaving the building.

She should run the other way. He was a Trickster after all, _the_ Trickster, the father of all other Tricksters. He could do anything, be anyone, and was a thing she’d normally hunt.

His knee had felt human beneath her hand back in Las Vegas and that arm he’d put around her not ten minutes earlier human also.

Sophie crossed her arms. Mick was gone, really and truly gone. She’d dreamed a few times about getting him back, yet known it was only that: a dream. He’d been gone for a year and a half.

Had it been that long?

She frowned. It had. Most of that time she’d been in this partially souled state, floundering emotionally and lonely. She’d planned to end her own life after taking what was left of Mick’s. It had been agony being in pain as long as she had. Her only thought for months had been to be free of that pain.

Meeting Teddy had changed that. She’d felt something with him…. A part of her wondered if Teddy could fill part of the void inside her.

Standing over Mick, the man she’d loved, and seeing that alien coolness on his face had been like a shower of ice water poured over her. He wasn’t the man she’d loved anymore and hadn’t been since the creature had eaten his soul.

Sam had been right. The man on that floor had been a shattered shadow of Mick, a broken memory that didn’t even play right. Sophie had started shaking at that realization and the realization that she didn’t want to die. Not anymore. She no longer desired to follow Mick to the grave and had had a sudden sense of being set adrift, lost in uncharted waters.

If it wasn’t right to die, then what did she do now? How did she go on without revenge to carry her? She’d been so focused for so long that she had no idea what else there could be.

Teddy’s arm about her and voice in her ear had grounded her, given her hope, a thing that had been missing from her life for months. She’d come here to meet him because of that hope. 

“You should be happy.”

Her heart beat a bit faster in response to his voice. “Why?” He’d appeared beside her in a blink.

“You were able to save Mick.”

“Not his soul.”

“You freed him. You loved him and did what you had to. I’ve been there.”

Turning her head, she looked at him. When their eyes met, Sophie felt like she was home, like he understood her and always would. “You wanted to talk?”

He leaned against the car. “It’s not your imagination, you know.”

“What’s not?” She forced herself to shift position and turn her attention elsewhere.

Teddy chuckled. “I can give you something you’ve been missing, something you need. You can do the same for me.”

“Are you offering?” She said the words almost scornfully, aware of what he’d ‘offered’ Gwen.

“Yes.”

“What is it you’re offering, Teddy? A good time until I pop out a kid and you take it and disappear forever?”

He moved to face her, fingers tipping her chin up, making her look at him again. “That was all talk. I was angry. I said things I’d never do. I’ve never parted any of my children from their mothers and each woman knew the truth. I was honest. Had to be. Children are important, I think we can agree on that. I don’t trick when it comes to choosing a woman and fathering. I’m offering you life, Sophie, life with me, and a life that’ll have enough new things in it to keep you wanting more. I know how to treat a woman and you are an exceptional one.” He grasped her hips in his hands.

“You’re a Trickster, Teddy. I’m a hunter. We don’t mix.”

“On the contrary, I think it just makes us more interesting.”

“I won’t stop hunting.” Though hadn’t she already? Her hunt for months now had been tracking the soul stealer. Any jobs she’d found had been passed to other hunters. Hadn’t she already stopped hunting?

“Neither will I.” He shrugged. “Maybe we can…merge our careers on occasion. We worked well together tonight.”

“We did.”

“What do you say, Sophie? Make something special with me?”

She slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders, letting him draw her close. Human, he still felt human to touch and she liked his lean form pressed against her. There was so much strength to him…. “No illusions, Teddy.” She meant it on several levels and he shook his head.

“Only reality. I won’t deceive you, Sophie.”

What did she have to lose? Love? Already gone with Mick. Self-respect? Did she even know what that was anymore? Her soul? He was hardly a demon to take her soul. Maybe he _could_ give her life and did she want to throw away a chance to feel something again? She knew he wasn’t playing a trick on her. He meant every word -- for now anyway. He was a Trickster however, and a monster, and some day, his nature would shine out. Right now though, she needed him. Sophie nodded. “Let’s make something special then.”

He kissed her, a careful caress that didn’t hurt her split lip, and joy sang through her veins. It had been too long since she’d had even a glimpse of raw emotion inside herself and Sophie wept from it.

This’ll work. We’ll make it work. God, please, don’t let this end too soon.

Teddy drew back and wiped away her tears with gentle fingers. “What do you say we ditch this place in style?”

A limo pulled up and Sophie took a last glance at the empty road behind them before letting him help her inside. She didn’t know where they were going, but found herself looking forward to the journey.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo was taking half the dose of painkiller she was supposed to and was in a pissy mood. Dean had had to help her dress, a completely different experience than helping her undress and one that took about twice as long. He’d had to resist the urge to not take off what he’d just helped her put on.

“He could’ve healed it completely,” she grumbled after giving her order to their server. “I know he could have.”

Dean sat back in his seat and stretched his legs out, hissing a little as the muscles in his back pulled wrong. He probably should have accepted Castiel’s offer of a little help. That moment of stubborn pride was definitely felt now. He’d even thought about taking one of Jo’s pain killers. “Probably the only sort of loophole he could think of in his restriction on healing was to partially heal you. Then he could say he hadn’t healed you when he sort of did.” He was glad Cas had bent the rule and knew Jo was too when she wasn’t in pain.

“Yeah? Well it sucks. _Gwen_ gets angelic healing.” 

“Gwen’s pregnant and the baby is Abby’s charge. It’s sort of the requirement now.”

Jo snorted. “Maybe I should get pregnant again, have that healing myself.”

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms. Not quite the time to talk about more kids in his opinion. “Let’s not have that discussion right now.”

“You’re the one wants like twenty kids.”

She was spoiling for a fight and he hoped that half dose of painkiller would kick in soon or this meeting with Heather was going to go wrong fast. “I never said twenty. I think I said ten.” Though one more would be good, maybe two if it worked out. He’d like to have a girl next time, one with Jo’s eyes and attitude.

With another snort, she tapped her fingers on the table. “Where’s my coffee? I need coffee. What’s taking them so long?”

Okay, maybe not with Jo’s attitude then.

Sam and Gwen entered the restaurant, joining them. Sam was still limping and, like all but Gwen, looked like he’d been in a bad accident or bar fight. When Dean and Jo had finally gotten to the motel, Sam had developed a black bruise all across his kneecap and the kneecap was swollen. Dean wondered if Gwen had persuaded him to wear a bandage around his knee under his jeans to stabilize it or if he was ignoring that advice. 

Out of all of them, Gwen looked the most well-rested, though that might be because she went into a pregnancy caused sleep coma seconds after lying down and stayed asleep until either someone or her alarm woke her.

Gwen took the seat beside Jo and reached for a menu. “Man, I’m hungry this morning!”

Even as hungry as she claimed to be, she still ordered fruit, toast with no butter and scrambled egg beaters. It wasn’t a large breakfast like Dean’s sampler, hardly more than what she usually had. He leaned a little around Jo. “Sure you can eat all that,” he teased.

“Dean.” Sam raised his brows. “Don’t.”

“Looking out for her.”

She grinned. “I think I’ll be fine, Dean. Drink some coffee for me. You look like you need it this morning.”

Their server brought the coffee, Jo doctoring hers, adding ice cubes and drinking the first cup as fast as she could. “If she’s not here in five minutes, we’re leaving.”

“We just ordered,” Sam protested.

“Not you two. Me and Dean. We’re leaving in five.” 

Dean made a noise of protest himself. He’d been looking forward to a hearty breakfast. “Belgian waffle, Jo. With eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, hash browns, and that apple crisp stuff that’s like pie.” He touched her hand, stroking a finger along the back of it in a tender caress. “Breakfast. Apple pie. Those two don’t go together often.”

Sam’s cough sounded suspiciously like he was covering a laugh.

She turned her head, giving him a stern stare. “We’ll swing through Arby’s and you have apple pie for breakfast at home all the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“There’s a reason I don’t buy pies from the bakery anymore, Dean.”

Heather arrived a moment later, negating Jo’s threat. She slipped into the chair beside Sam and across from Jo. Her hair was no longer curled and she wasn’t wearing makeup. In the harsh fluorescent lighting she looked older, weary, and surprised they were still there. “You’re here.” She hung her purse on her chair and laid the thick file she was carrying on the table. “I didn’t think you would be.”

“In another minute we wouldn’t have been,” Dean told her as she sat. He gestured to Sam, then Gwen. “Brother Sam. Sister-in-law Gwen.”

“Hi. I’m Heather. Nice to formally meet you. Thanks for doing what you did last night. All of you.” 

And there was that ‘thank you’ Dean had never thought they’d hear. He blinked in surprise.

She licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s all over town, you know. The serial killer Mick Richardson taking the class reunion hostage, killing most of them, and getting taken out by a mystery woman thought to be a vengeful family member of a previous victim.” She sighed, dark amusement in her green eyes. “Town hasn’t seen this much excitement since the Roadhouse blew.”

“We Harvelles always liven up the place.” The edge was gone from Jo’s voice and either the pain pill had taken effect or the coffee had mellowed her.

Heather’s smile was wry. “True. Life is certainly more interesting with your family around, Jo.” Her smile faded. “I know he wasn’t human. Do I want to know the full story about what he was?”

“Probably not,” Gwen told her. “Most civilians --”

“Heather’s a witch,” Dean informed her, saying it blunt and watching the friendly warmth in Gwen’s eyes ice over.

“I see.” Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you been one, Heather?”

“Since I was about thirteen. Is…is that a problem?” She looked at each of them.

“Let’s just say it doesn’t endear you to us.” Sam put his napkin on his lap and then their food was there, Heather declining to order anything but coffee.

“What do you want, Heather?” Jo scowled at her English muffin. “Dean, I need strawberry jam on this.”

He thought she could do it herself, but added the jam for her anyway. “Why don’t we wait until after we’re all done before we talk about whatever Heather wanted to meet about?”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Heather offered. “It’s fine. Eat. Go ahead.”

The Belgian waffle was a tad overcooked. Dean ate it anyway. “So tell us, Heather…. What’s up with your class and summoning demons?”

“What do you mean?” She didn’t seem guarded, just curious, like she had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe she didn’t, but he’d bet she knew something.

“You know nothing about it?” Jo took a bite of the English muffin, chewed and swallowed. “About Cheryl, Thad, and Steve? Maybe Toby?”

“About what? I knew Cheryl, Thad, and Steve all died. What do you mean summoning demons? You think they did that?”

“Ten years after graduation those three died after reaching pretty damn good levels of success. It was in your reunion booklet.” Dean cut his sausage and speared a piece with his fork. “Classic crossroads deal. Ten is the usual number, though they’ve been known to make that number higher or a lot lower depending on the individual and how tasty they are.”

She crossed her arms on the table. “Well, they did borrow a book from me and never returned it. It was a really old one that Amelie Grafton gave me before she moved away. I’d never actually looked at it, so I don’t know what was in it.”

“Amelie?” Jo shook her head. “I don’t remember her. When was she here?”

“She was only here a couple months in eighth grade. Actually, she was the one that showed me witchcraft worked and got me started. She gave me two books to help me before she moved. I still have the one. I can show it to you if you want.”

Sam’s laugh was like a snort. “Your friend Amelie was a demon, Heather. She enticed you, got you going. You’re under contract with her and her boss.”

“Which means ultimately, she’s under contract with Crowley now,” Dean said, his appetite suddenly much diminished. “Word is he’s got his sticky fingers everywhere: crossroads, regular sales of all levels….” Crowley wasn’t going to go away and with the soul stealer gone, he’d be putting his crossroad demons back onto their usual beats. Some day, they were going to go up against Crowley again and maybe this time they’d be able to gank him before he ran away. It still ticked him off that Crowley had gotten away from them.

“I didn’t sign anything.” Heather still didn’t look like she understood the gravity of her situation.

“Doesn’t matter.” Gwen turned her plate a fraction and reached for the ketchup, covering her egg beaters with it. “As soon as you started using, she knew you’d be hooked.”

“It was probably verbal, couched in old language like Latin, something she could count on you not understanding and being trusting enough to repeat.” Jo shoved her plate away, English muffin half eaten. “They took the book and it disappeared with the crossroad demon, I bet. Probably passed on to give to another new witch to entice her, or his, friends. You know, I do vaguely remember mom saying something about some possible demon activity she was looking into around that time they would have asked for the book.” She sipped at her coffee, a pensive expression on her face. “I was getting ready for college then, not really paying much attention to hunting for like the first time ever.”

“Unless you can get out of whatever pact you made, you’re going to hell,” Dean told Heather, mostly to watch her roll her eyes in that clueless way that indicated she didn’t believe him on that.

“He’s not kidding,” Gwen told her. “That’s how it works. Make deals with demons --”

“Go to hell,” Sam finished for her. “Do not pass go --”

“Do not collect two hundred dollars.” Dean took a last bite and shoved his plate away.

Heather stirred her coffee. “Geez. Are you stuck on all that hell stuff, too, Jo?”

“Dealing with demons is never a good idea, so…yeah. I guess I am. I know enough about hell to know I never want to end up there and you shouldn’t want to either.”

They finished eating and it was time for business. Heather rested her hands on the folder in front of her. “You tried to save my life last night, Jo. Thank you for that. I know we weren’t close in high school --”

“Understatement of the year. You tormented me for four years. That’s definitely not close.”

“I didn’t torment you.” Heather’s eyes widened. “I may have said a few things from time to time --”

“Torment. Every day. And it wasn’t just the words, it was the actions.”

Her lips parted and she frowned. “You never acted like it bothered you. You gave back as good as you got.”

“Because I had to. You were a serious mean girl. No way I was going to let you and your gang win.”

“Win?” She started to reply and sat back. “Okay. I guess what I remember isn’t what you do. I thought that while we weren’t friends exactly, we got along okay. We had different friends, different interests, different ways of doing things, but….” Heather groaned. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Why?” Dean was curious about that awfully thick file on the table.

“It’s fine, Heather. That was in the past.” Jo shifted in her chair. “Go on. Tell us what you want.”

“Okay. My dad died a few months back and I’ve been here settling the estate. It’s a lot to do and a lot I still have to do. He had so many secrets….”

“Parents always do,” Sam said.

“Sometimes it’s a real doozey that comes your way, too.” Gwen crossed her arms on the table edge.

“ _Tell_ me about it. I had no idea about half of what I’ve found so far.” Heather nodded. “It’s how the reunion idea came about, by the way. Some of us were sitting around, reminiscing, and got to wondering how the rest of the class was. Voilà . Reunion. I thought fourteen years was a stupid idea, but was overruled. Fourteen. I mean, really? Reunions are supposed to be at certain year markers, right? Like five, ten, and fifteen, not fourteen.”

The derision in her voice for the idea was the same as Jo’s had been.

“You know some of those idiots actually thought it’d been fifteen?”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jo said. She’d perked up a little at Heather’s disdain for the fourteen year idea.

“It shouldn’t have me either, but it did. Some of our classmates weren’t the brightest.” 

“Don’t have to tell me that.”

“I figured I might as well coordinate and make it something besides a few kegs set in the back of Vinnie’s pick-up. Anyway, I’d been setting aside the weird things I was finding in dad’s files, things that didn’t add up. About two months into it, I determined I needed to get a private detective to sort it all out, track down people, and just figure out what I can’t.” She pushed the folder towards Jo. “Your RSVP came in and I thought, it’s got to be fate or something. I need an investigator and you are one.”

“You want to hire us,” Gwen asked.

“Yeah. Why not? At first I thought I’d hire your company because I know Jo and I know she’ll get to the bottom of whatever was going on, but then, after last night….” Her attention turned to each of them in turn. “It’s got to be fate. Seriously. I think you’re the only ones who can figure this out and not freak out if it’s what I think it could be.”

“Why do you say that?” Dean shifted in his chair, managing not to hiss again from the discomfort in his back.

“You told me you use spells to take care of evil creatures, Dean. That means you hunt them down and you’re obviously familiar with this stuff. All of you.”

Sam reached for the folder. “I think we should take a look at what you have before we accept anything.”

Heather nodded. “Feel free to peruse. This is just a fraction of what I’ve found.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I thought it might be enough to get you interested.”

Dean watched Sam’s face as he glanced through several pages. There was an intriguing flash of alarm in his eyes before he masked it and casually handed a page to Gwen. She took it and studied it, handed it to Jo, who glanced at it and handed it to Dean. He looked at the page and saw what Sam had: a name that made it quite clear what Heather’s dad had been up to: Bela.

He gritted his teeth. Occasionally, they still did run across aftermath of Bela’s work.

So, Artie Holt had dealt in cursed objects and set up shop right under Ellen and Bill’s nose, continuing long after Bill died and the Roadhouse blew up. That had to be where he’d gotten his money. Dean suddenly understood that it hadn’t been that Ellen had had something on him like Jo suspected. No, Artie had let her win on matters to keep her from looking into his business. He’d let her win and Dean wondered if he’d known the Harvelle real business and been keeping tabs on the family. For who though? Himself, or someone else? What, exactly, had Heather’s father been up to?

He turned his attention to Sam, asking the silent question of whether they wanted to check it out or not.

Sam nodded. Dean moved on to Gwen and Jo next and, when he’d gotten their nods as well, he leaned forward slightly. “Okay, Heather. We’re sufficiently intrigued. Let’s discuss our fee.”

For twenty minutes, they haggled over prices, making it clear that Heather had a firm grasp on what the going rates were for what she was asking and she’d get a deal if she could.

Jo’s eyes had brightened with interest and the challenge as the conversation had continued. Dean thought she was probably hoping to uncover some big Holt skeletons. She cleared her throat. “You said you wanted to hire us because you know me and know I’ll find out the truth. Then you said we might be the only ones who wouldn’t freak. These are our prices, Heather. They’re set and we have a proven track record and references from satisfied clients if you need them. Or you can go with a cut-rate company that’ll do a half-ass job for half the price. Your choice. Frankly, we don’t need the work. We’re busy enough as it is without taking on a job of this size.”

It was the right thing to say. Heather was raring to sign the paperwork and Gwen just happened to have not only a hunting kit, but an investigation kit in her car. She was just as prepared as Jo was, for either business.

Sam played secretary, filling out their end of the paperwork, then handed it off to Heather to finish. Heather took a pair of reading glasses from her purse and put them on, perusing the papers slowly. She was going to pay them an astronomical sum to do a job that was technically not in the scope of their front job. She was paying them to hunt and find out a truth that Dean suspected she wouldn’t want to know in the end.

Speaking of that, he had a change to make before things were final. He held up a finger. “One last thing before we dot all the ‘i’s’ and cross the ‘t’s’ here.”

Heather glanced up, over the rim of the glasses, pen poised over the paper. “Yes?”

“However this turns out, whatever we uncover, you never use your witchy powers against us.”

“I wouldn’t,” she protested.

“Let’s just make that official,” Sam said, reaching for the contract and scrawling an addendum at the bottom.

“Why?” Heather read the addition.

Gwen laced her fingers together on the table. “In this business, you never know what’ll happen. Best to be safe in the things that _can_ be controlled.” She could mean either of their businesses with that statement.

With a final look at all of them, Heather signed the papers and handed them to Sam. “There. Can you start today?” She dug in her purse and pulled out a key ring, setting them on the table. “Here are the extra keys. I’m sure Jo remembers where the house is. I could take you over now if you like, show you where I found things?”

They made arrangements and Dean wondered what else they might find as they dug through Heather’s business and family. He hoped that little addendum would keep them safe, but the sad fact was, they were never safe and never would be.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly two weeks after the reunion, Jo stood at the front windows back at their house and watched Abigael work up the nerve to come to the door. She paced in the front yard, glanced at the house, crossed her arms, started to walk away, and paced some more. She’d been doing it for nearly an hour. Once, she’d gotten to the steps before changing her mind.

Jo glanced over her shoulder. Sam and Dean were working on various tasks, Sam for the job Heather had given them and Dean on something Mel had sent them. Jack was playing on the floor and Gwen was in the kitchen making a cup of herbal tea. “Gwen.”

She came over, holding a mug and looking out the window. “She’s still out there.”

“Why won’t she just come up? I didn’t think angels got scared.”

“Maybe she’s trying to figure out how to do her job when Dean and Sam are having trust issues with the angels again?”

Castiel appeared beside her, the two talking. It looked like they were giving each other a pep talk.

Talking was what they needed to come in here and do. They all needed to sit down and hash things out, but getting Dean and Sam to agree to it was the problem. They were avoiding anything that had to do with the angels.

She watched Castiel give Abigael’s shoulder a bracing squeeze and Abigael marched towards the house and up onto the porch.

Gwen went to the door and opened it before Abigael could knock. “Might as well come in.”

“Oh. Thank you. You seem well?”

“Peachy. A little nausea now and then still.”

“Ahh.” She glanced towards Jo. “Hi, Jo. Are you all available for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“No,” came Dean’s denial from across the room.

“We’re available,” Jo said, overruling him and ignoring the sour stare he turned her way. “Well, we are.”

He shoved aside the papers he was going through. “Fine. What?”

Abigael moved to the table and sat, waiting until Sam, Gwen, and Jo joined them. “Castiel told me you’ve read the prophet’s latest work. You know what happened leading up to the accident and immediately after.”

Dean crossed his arms.

Sam leaned on the table. “So?”

“So, I need to know where I stand with you. I’m the Guardian of your child, Dean, and of you wife and unborn child, Sam. I need to know neither of you will interfere with me doing my job. I need to know that you won’t hold those days against me.”

“You mean you need to know we won’t try to kill you,” Dean said.

“Killing me would be unfortunate for your children, though they’d receive another Guardian eventually.”

“What about Cas?”

“What about him?”

Jo stayed silent, listening carefully and saw Gwen had the same idea.

“Would he be that Guardian?”

“Do you want him to be?”

Dean looked away and so did Sam.

Abigael laced her fingers together. “No, Dean. He won’t be the Guardian in the event you kill me. He’d appoint the Guardian.”

Jo cleared her throat. “I think we need to have another…probationary period with you. Supervised visits and so on. Slowly get back into things.” She looked back to the front windows. “We’re cool, Abby, or as cool as we can be for now. Why don’t you send Castiel in?”

It was time they had it out. Dean and Sam might not think they were ready, but Jo did.

~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting with Dean and Sam wasn’t going well. Castiel was frustrated and trying to hide it. It had started out nice and rational -- until Sam’s temper flared about Cas not doing anything to help Gwen. Gwen had attempted to intervene and Sam had stormed out, Gwen going after him.

Jo had excused herself soon after to tend to Jack, leaving only Castiel and Dean.

Castiel touched the box, placed his hand on the lid. “I know you’re angry with me --”

“You think?”

“ -- and that trust we had can’t easily be rebuilt, but I’m an angel, Dean. I’m a righteous heavenly being and my job will sometimes go against what you consider right and just in the sphere of what you see around you.”

“Don’t give me that, Cas. There’s right and wrong and none of you get to exempt yourselves from either.”

“I have to look at the bigger picture. I have to. I will have to act on what will be coming and not just what is happening now, or what you see right now.” He wished they didn’t have to have this conversation, that he could simply say he was sorry and they’d go back to how it had been. But that wasn’t possible.

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted.

“It’s a lesson I had to relearn and I’m sorry we can’t be friends in the human definition of the word. I would have liked that.” He smiled a little, recalling the days of Dean teaching him how to be human. “I _did_ like it.”

“You kept things from us, Cas. It’s hard to get past.” Dean clasped his hands together and looked down at the floor. “You kept things from us, worked for Death, and you let Gwen get hurt.” He glanced up. “I understand the last even if I can’t let it go yet.”

He acknowledged it with a nod. “I’m not denying it. I admit I had to keep things from you. I had a job to do and precise timing for it, but I was manipulated and tricked into working for him. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah, I get that part. So, was it in the cards that we all get beat to hell? That Jo has a broken arm and Sam’s got a twisted knee? That all those people died in that building? Death had all that planned out…and you helped him with it?”

“I did the job he gave me to do to the best of my ability. Atropos, the Fate, was under the impression you, Sam, and Jo were going to die, leaving Gwen to face him and die containing him. She told Balthazar, who told me, and I…. I decided to hell with what Death wanted, I couldn’t let you all die. I had to give you a fighting chance. You know the rest. Abigael bringing Gwen. Me guarding Jack and waiting for news, then realizing that it did play out as it had been planned. He could have taken you and didn’t.” He looked down at the box. “I love you all, Dean. You, Sam. I’ve come to love Jo and Gwen and others. You might not believe it right now, but I do and I want to show my love for you and some day regain your trust. I’ve thought a lot on how to do that.”

“What’s your big plan?”

“I’ll take the box, lock him up in heaven and throw away the key. I’ll keep it safe and keep your descendants safe from ever having to deal with him again. What Aaron did was wrong and all of you shouldn’t have to pay the price for his sin.”

Dean didn’t answer, head remaining bent, and Castiel picked up the box.

“I’ll understand if you don’t call for me again. I expect it. I accept it. Just…know that I do love you all. You’ll never have to fear this creature again.” He hoped to see Dean look up again, or hear him say something and was pricked by disappointment when neither occurred after a prolonged silence. He dematerialized and made the arrangements for the box.

It would be kept under lock and key, with two keys needed. He’d have one and Uzziel the other. A guard was placed on the small room and Castiel slipped from heaven to Bobby Singer’s house. The Winchesters weren’t the only ones he needed to say goodbye to.

He found Ellen bringing in groceries.

She gasped when she noticed him and leaned against the counter, using both hands to brace herself. “Hell’s bells, Cas. Could you announce yourself or something? About gave me a heart attack.”

“I apologize, Ellen.”

Straightening, she peered at him, then got out a bottle and a shot glass, gesturing to the table. “Sit.”

“I don’t --”

“Not a request. Sit. You look like you need to talk.” She sat, poured a shot and set it in front of the chair across from her. “Don’t keep a lady waiting.”

He sat. “You’re not drinking?”

One brow twitched upwards. “It’s not even ten in the morning, boy. You go ahead. You’ll be fine. You’ve got that angel metabolism.” Her fingers nudged the glass closer. “Drink up.”

The first shot wasn’t smooth going down, but the next several were.

“Now, tell me what’s got you looking like you just lost everything you ever had.”

He floundered a bit on the story, certain she already knew most of it. Jo would’ve told her and if not Jo, then Gwen, though it looked like Gwen had kept that promise he’d asked of her. She’d not told anyone until it had come out anyhow.

Ellen listened, not commenting.

“Sam remains angry with me for not helping Gwen and Dean….” He tapped the glass on the table several times. “I freely admit I did keep things from them and I had to. I’ve been told the balance of the world is pretty much where it was before Sam and Dean messed it up unknowingly the first time. You see, it had to go on as long as it did, as many months, to reach that level. If it hadn’t, if they’d gone after the creature sooner, balance would still be off just a hair, maybe a tiny bit more. This was a chance to make it really right again.”

“Everything is even now?”

“So I’m told, yes.” He sat back in the chair, only realizing that Bobby hadn’t come in. “Where’s Bobby?”

“Caught a job with Rufus. Good thing, too. He was driving me nuts.” Her smile was fond and he saw the faintest of flushes color her cheeks.

“You love him.”

Ellen didn’t deny it, nor did she verbally confirm it, returning to the original topic. “You need to give them time, Cas.”

“I know.”

“Don’t pop in, just…let them think awhile. Let them get to an understanding point. Them boys are stubborn, but they’ve got my Jo and Gwen who’ll knock sense into them as soon as they can.” She capped the bottle and set it aside, then glanced at him. “Do you regret it now? What you did these months?”

“I regret that it’s put a wedge between me, Sam, and Dean. I regret that I’ve lost trust that was hard to get in the first place. I regret that we’re back where we started: the human hunter and the angel he’s not sure he can count on. Maybe that’s how it always had to be. The nature of my job and the nature of his. I’m an angel, with a view of events he can never have and struggles to see. He’s a hunter and can’t know some of the things I do.” He blinked. “But do I regret the job itself?”

She nodded in encouragement.

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t. The world is on track and my friends are alive. I did what I had to do to get the job done. No, Ellen, I don’t regret the job. I merely regret those things that came about personally because of it.”

She touched his hand, squeezed it in hers. “Time’s your friend here. Trust me. This’ll be mended before you know it.”

He hoped so. He didn’t like being at odds with Dean and Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~

While he understood all of what Castiel had said and knew what it felt like to be tricked into working for someone you’d rather gank, Dean had trouble letting go of the hurt. He closed his eyes as Castiel promised to keep the box safe. In the silence that followed he decided to try. He’d try to move past it because, under it all, he knew Castiel hadn’t meant to hurt them in any way.

“You’re talking like it’s goodbye here, but you don’t get to walk away, Cas. You don’t get to come in people’s lives, make a mess and leave. You stay and pick up the pieces and --” He looked up, licked his lips and nodded. “-- and I’m talking to myself. Great. You couldn’t stay another minute?”

“He’ll be back.” Jo came over to him and sat down beside him.

“Doubt that. He took that box and said he’ll keep it safe for us, watch over it so we never have to worry again. It was his way of saying goodbye, stupid nerdy angel with big gallant ideas. He’s gone, Jo.”

She touched his knee. “It was his way of trying to rebuild. Give it time. Give him time.”

“Angels drive me nuts.”

“Has it been all bad knowing him?”

It was a leading question, one she said while looking enticingly saucy. “You know it hasn’t.” Without Cas…. He and Sam would both be without a lot in their lives.

“Then you decide to forgive him, work through it, help Sam with it, and when you’re ready, I think Castiel will come back.”

He hoped so. He didn’t like this rift between he and Sam and Castiel. It felt wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

****

Epilogue:

Another Winchester had been born, a precious boy to greet the world. In a rare giving moment, the Fates had taken Castiel aside and told him that, barring any more big events, there’d be one more child born. Jo and Dean would have a daughter if nothing changed the slated timeline. They didn’t say exactly when the child would be born. Jo could be pregnant again any time now. Sam and Gwen would only have the one son and be perfectly content in that.

Castiel stood just out of sight, Abigael beside him. While his friendship with the Winchesters had been dealt a heavy blow, things were slowly returning to normal. Dean and Sam were softening, occasionally asking Abigael about him. He stayed away, taking Ellen’s advice and waiting. When the time came, it had to be them contacting him. He found himself excited for that day and hoping it’d be soon.

“Did you notice,” Abigael asked him. “At the birth?”

“Notice?”

“The burst of mermaid magic dispersing.”

He hadn’t noticed, but trusted Abigael in that. “Is that why the birth was easy?”

“Actually…yes. I was told her labor was supposed to be rather like Jo’s.”

He smiled a little at how tenderly Sam embraced his wife and son. “When did they meet a mermaid?”

“Probably on their cruise.”

“They must have impressed her somehow. They don’t give out their blessings easily.”

He was pleased at how life was treating his friends and, as he watched with Abigael, he heard a familiar call.

Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was agreed that Dean would be the first visitor to greet the newest Winchester. Jo would step in next, then Ellen. Dean donned the sterile gown required and went into the room.

“How is it that we get the huge baby that spends an entire day millimetering his way out to greet the world and you get tiny little Slippery McSlips-a-Lot who shoots out less than five hours after her water broke?” While Dean knew it didn’t sound like a serious question, it was. How on earth did that happen? He went to the chair and sat.

Gwen looked good. Tired, but good. The baby was only just over five pounds and half the size Jack had been, not to mention Gwen hadn’t looked remotely pregnant for a ridiculously long time, a thing that had cause a few disgruntled comments from Jo. Jo had seemed to blossom with pregnant belly immediately after realizing she was pregnant. The only vague problem had been that the baby had been a week overdue. Jo had been sure the baby would be Jack’s size.

“Must be Gwen’s side of the family.” Sam shrugged, cradling the boy in his arms.

“Must be.” Dean studied Gwen. She was picking at her dinner, looking at Sam and the baby with wonder on her face. “How’re you doing?”

“I can’t believe he’s here. I’m not pregnant anymore.” Stretching out a hand, she touched the blanket around the baby.

“You got a name picked out yet?”

“Sean Alan.” She smiled. “Sam picked out the first name, I picked out the middle. Sean Alan Winchester.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds good.” He got up from his chair. “I’d better let Jo and Ellen come in before they break the door down. Congratulations you two.” With the door half open, a thought occurred to him and he looked back at them. “Hey…. Isn’t Sean a form of John?”

Sam’s shoulders shifted almost guiltily and he cleared his throat. “Maybe?”

He held Sam’s gaze for a couple seconds. “It’s a good name for a good kid.”

The door closed behind him and as he took the gown off, he grinned. Sean was totally a form of John.

He took a walk, leaving Jo and Ellen to go in and coo over the baby. Eventually, his steps took him outside, into the garden area in the courtyard and Dean thought it was a good time for a new beginning all around. He cleared his throat.

“So, Castiel, I suppose you’re busy right now doing angel stuff, but if you have a minute…. Stop by.”

For once, Castiel appeared before even a minute had gone by. “Hello.”

“That’s got to be a record.” Cas frowned and Dean went on. “You have a minute?”

“I have nothing but time, Dean.”

The meeting was awkward on both their parts, the words slow in coming, but it was a start. It was something they could work with and build on.

~~~~~~~~~~

God, as Chuck, approached Death. He was at the mall food court, eating what Sam called a ‘heart attack special’: two hamburger patties with triple cheese and layers of both bacon a deep fried onion rings. He joined him without asking, sliding into a chair and sipping at a coffee while waiting for him to finish eating.

Death eyed him coolly, popped the last piece of burger in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He drank cherry slushie from the largest size available, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Making public appearances again, I see.”

“On occasion. Can’t rush these things, you know.”

His glance slid across the crowd of people. Death was here for a reason. Perhaps he’d spotted the next person on his list. “We never rush into anything. None of us. Except a few angels currently running about and your humans, of course.”

“Did you see the child?”

“I had occasion to be on that floor. A new mother just down the hall from Gwen bled out. It wasn’t long after Gwen gave birth. Lachesis was there in the nursery, as was Abigael. They were deep in discussion when I walked past the window.” He took another sip of slushie. “I won’t take them off the board, no matter how many times you intervene somehow on their behalf.” His voice was pleasant. “They will die.”

“Every body dies eventually. Every person is born and every person must die. It’s the cycle of their existence. I don’t deny that their time will come in the future.”

“By rights, I should have them already, even Ellen Harvelle and Bobby Singer.”

“Choices were made by all involved. They made theirs and you made yours. It’s a little late to cry foul, don’t you think?”

Death didn’t care for that comment or reminder, those cold eyes staring hard at him. “When their time is up --”

“They’ll be yours,” God assured him. “Not a moment sooner. Buy you a coffee?”

Death pursed his lips like he’d been sucking on a lemon, then nodded. “I suppose. I’ve had a hankering to try that new concoction that’s been advertised.” He stood. “Besides, I have an appointment there shortly. Father of three. Undiagnosed heart condition.”

True order and balance had been restored, the scale finally level once more. It had been a very long time since there had been such balance. The timing had been perfect and he made a mental note to show his appreciation to all involved soon.

The Winchester family had time. For awhile anyway. They had time, new allies, and there was happiness. There was contentment. They were in a calm place right now, but soon, as always, a wave would be coming their way. The first ripples had begun with their ongoing investigation into Heather Holt’s business and family. They would be tossed and turned and maybe, just maybe, Death would have a say in the outcome.

He smiled softly to himself.

Or not.


End file.
